THE RAJAH'S RECEPTION
Hoosanee, who was by this time in daily communication with Chunder Singh, was careful so to time the arrival in Gumilcund of the rajah's heir as to make it interesting and impressive. Tom, indeed, who wished to test the truth of the likeness to the late rajah, which so many of his friends had observed in him, and at the same time to put to the severest trial his own power of maintaining the character of an Indian prince, insisted that the people should not be prepared for his arrival, and, Chunder Singh agreeing with him, Hoosanee was obliged to give up his dreams of garlanded houses, and throngs of expectant people in holiday raiment. He indemnified himself by arranging that they should enter the city on the evening of a holiday, for then all the workers would be out of doors, and Gumilcund would look her best.
It was in the forenoon of a burning day that the little cavalcade halted. They were now within the boundaries of the Gumilcund State. Tom, who was looking at everything with the deepest interest, had already seen evidences of a higher prosperity than he had met with elsewhere. The splendidly kept roads were overshadowed with fine trees; there were wells and tanks in every direction; the villages, which echoed to the sounds of industry, were neater and more comfortable-looking than any he had seen in India; and, throughout the day's journey, he only saw one or two of the hideous vermilion-painted shrines to Mahadeo, which, elsewhere, were to be found at every corner.
They halted in a grove of fig trees, about two miles distant from the city. Here Tom's tent had been pitched, and, though far too much excited to sleep, he threw himself down for a few hours' rest.
'His Excellency will sleep in his own palace to-night, if we continue to meet with the favour of Heaven,' said Hoosanee, as he left his master to his repose.
Hour followed hour. The sun blazed down with the most terrible fierceness. Tom got up and went to the edge of the wood, and returned reeling and almost blind. He could do nothing, he could not even think, and he felt as if the day would never pass away. At last, towards afternoon, Hoosanee came in with the pleasant news that his meal and his bath were ready. Tom knew what was expected of him, and he was not surprised to see the finest of his Oriental suits, with jewels that had often caused him anxiety on the road, but that were now most carelessly displayed, laid out for him to wear.
'We are in Gumilcund,' said Hoosanee, with a proud smile, when his young master looked at the display. 'There are no budmashes here.'
Not without some sense of amusement, and curious consideration of what his friends at home would say if they could see him, the rajah's heir decked himself out. He wore a crimson satin tunic, sown with pearls, and the sash from which his sword hung was of golden tissue, and his turban of fine muslin richly embroidered shone with the fire of rubies and diamonds.
It was an absurd magnificence, which, Tom felt, would dwarf him, and, with an Englishman's impatience of merely personal display, he was about to fling aside these gaudy weeds and ask for something plainer, when, glancing into the mirror which Hoosanee held up to him proudly, he was aware of such a change as he had experienced on board the 'Patagonia,' on the occasion of his first putting on an Oriental robe. It came, this time, with a force that there was no resisting. For an instant his brain seemed to reel with the shock. Then, making a strong effort to draw himself together, he looked again, and tried to look calmly. For several seconds he gazed fixedly into those strange eyes that were gazing into his. Then he drew a deep breath. It was true. This image before him was not Thomas Gregory. There was a dignity in the figure, a determination in the face, a mingled fire and sadness in the dark eyes, such as he had never seen in the English youth whom he thought he knew.
What did it mean? Was he dreaming a madman's dream, or was it, could it be, that the awful thing which ever since he left home had been haunting him was true? Could another personality enter into and possess him? Would he never in all the future be certain at any moment of being himself? Questions such as these were forcing their way through his mind, when, all at once, the curtain at the door of the tent was slowly lifted, and, looking round impatiently, for he was in no mood to be intruded upon, he saw his friend Chunder Singh standing, with bowed head, before him. At the same moment his perplexity and distress vanished, and he knew that the curious conflict, so often renewed, was over for the time. The English youth had gone. It was the Indian prince and chief who addressed his follower.
'Welcome to my tent, Chunder Singh,' he said, heartily. 'What news do you bring?'
'I bring good news, my lord,' said Chunder Singh. 'We are at peace, and all the State is well-disposed to your Highness. It was your will that we should not warn the people of your approach; but the wind of rumour has been busy amongst them, and I find that they expect the return of their rajah. When my lord enters he will be received with acclamations.'
'I will only go amongst them upon one condition,' said the young rajah. 'You know that, Chunder Singh.'
'I know it well; but let my lord have no fear! We know by whose favour we live and prosper, and in all Gumilcund I believe there is no one who would be traitorous to the Paramount Power.'
The eyes of the young rajah glistened as he held out his hand, over which Chunder Singh, whose eyes were wet with tears, bent reverently, for he knew now that his old master had come back to him.
After this they made their arrangements. Hoosanee, who was called into their counsel, was in favour of their all entering together; but it was decided against him. The rajah should ride in on his snow-white horse, with only Subdul Khan, whose face was unknown to the people of Gumilcund, behind him; and the rest of the train should follow after about half an hour's interval.
The sun had by this time gone down; a rose-red glow of colour streaming over the plain transfigured the burnt fields into gardens of Paradise, and a thin white veil rising from a multitude of evening fires covered the face of the plain.
Feeling as if everything, and most of all himself, were unreal, Tom mounted Snow-queen, and, following the road pointed out to him by Chunder Singh, rode on rapidly for two miles. Then he drew rein, for he was within sight of the city. Dreamlike and wonderful in the evening light, the broad shield of the full moon rising above its battlements, it lay before him. It was all new; but he did not feel that it was new. It seemed to him rather as if he were coming to a spot where everything was familiar. He pushed on again, riding more slowly. A bridge thrown across a deep gully lay in front of him. He crossed it at a foot-pace and found himself under walls of red sandstone, thick and high, in the midst of which was a massive gate, flanked with towers, which lay hospitably open.
By this time Subdul Khan, his only attendant, was close behind him.
They rode in together, no one challenging them, and again Tom drew up and looked round him. He was in a dazzling little world of pink and white—pink houses that stood back from a wide white road, through the midst of which ran a canal of fresh water overshadowed with young trees, and white poles uplifting lanterns above the heads of the people, who in gay garments of pink and white were streaming along the road, and towards the centre of the city.
Keeping under the shadow of the trees so as not to attract the attention of any one, the rajah's heir followed the crowd. It was at once the gayest and the most orderly crowd that he had ever beheld. As he went on it grew thicker. Beautiful white kine, with garlanded horns, moved amongst them; flocks of white pigeons hovered overhead, alighting wherever there was a vacant space, and taking toll from the stores of yellow grain that were spread out on sheets at the doors of the houses; and the lowing of the quiet beasts, and the whirr of the doves' wings blended pleasantly with the buzz and rumour of the city. Subdul Khan urged his master to show himself; but he kept in shadow still. He was interested and moved as he had never been before. He felt more strongly than ever the mysterious kinship between himself and these people. He was tempted to prolong the dream-like sensations of the moment, and to put off the time when it would be necessary for him to act.
Moving on under the grateful shelter of the trees, with the unconscious crowd about him, he was aware of coming into a finer part of the city. Large and lofty houses, which were very much in the gingerbread style of architecture, being decorated lavishly with balconies or pavilions and pretty perforated stone lattices, stood back from the road, and here and there, as, going with the stream of the people, he followed the broad main road, he caught glimpses of quiet side streets and little open squares, surrounded with lighted houses, all in the same fantastic style. 'This is like a magnified toy city,' he said to himself. And now he had traversed the full length of the broad high road that leads from the principal gate to the market-place, and the avenue of trees which had been sheltering him from observation came to an end abruptly. Here for a few moments he pulled up. To plunge into the sea of light and movement that lay before him would be to attract the attention of the crowd, and before doing so he wished to understand what was going on.
The market place, of wide extent and planted here and there with groups of trees, was the centre from which the principal streets of the city radiated. It was here that all the fun of the evening culminated. After a little observation, Tom made out that the festival had to do with Rama, hero of the great Indian epic. His name was to be heard on every side. Processions of women, decked with garlands of flowers, were making the round of the market place, chanting his praises; men in long white robes, and elevated on small platforms above the heads of the people, were reciting fragments of the Ramayana; and in booths, closely surrounded with eager crowds, pictures of the hero and the companions of his exile were being exhibited.
This much he saw himself. Subdul Khan, in the meantime, who had alighted and tethered his horse to a tree, was, by his orders, mixing amongst the people. In a few moments he returned, his dark face all aglow with excitement. 'Allah is favourable to my master!' he exclaimed. 'He has come at a good moment. It is the festival of Rama's return to his city after his seven years of exile, twice told. There could not be a better omen. Let my lord ride down amongst them!'
Snow-queen had been standing like a marble image under the trees. Her master shook the bridle rein, and she moved forward. They had been in shadow, and they were now in full light. The effect was magical. In an instant the white horse and its rider became the centre towards which all that multitude of swaying figures converged. They were silent for a few moments. The suddenness of the apparition had struck them with awe, and it was to some as if a spirit had risen from the dead. But in the East the crowd is more attuned to marvels than in the West. The sense of awe was followed, in a moment, by a rapture that was almost intoxicating. Like an autumn wind that sweeps over the yellow corn fields, bowing the ripe ears to the ground, so the wild rumour ran, and hundreds of heads were bent, while the cry of 'Rama! Rama!' rent the air. In less time than it takes to tell, the trees in the market-place and the balconies of the houses that bounded it, and the platforms from which the reciters had been declaiming, were thronged with eager faces. Then from some one in the outskirts of the crowd there came another cry—a cry that thrilled Tom to the heart—'Rajah jee! Rajah jee!'
Those behind pressed upon those in front. Subdul Khan could with difficulty keep a little space between the horse and the people, and had not Snow-queen been as gentle as she was swift there would have been imminent danger of accident. But she stood quiet, or moved forward slowly as she was directed, arching her beautiful neck, and tossing her mane; and Tom, who, for a moment, had been uneasy, looked round him calmly and proudly. Then the acclamations were redoubled. They echoed and re-echoed through the square; they came rolling up the streets that opened into it; they dropped down like thunder from the roofs and pavilions of the houses. 'Rajah jee! Rajah jee! Protector of the poor! Cherisher of our city! Master of our lives! He has come back to us from the grave, and we are orphans no longer. Byrajee Pirtha Raj, our prince and deliverer, is here!' These and a hundred other cries rent the air, so that the whole city was in an uproar.
Tom, meanwhile, was silent. He would have spoken if he could, but the tumult was too great. He moved forward slowly across the great square, looking to the right hand and to the left. In the centre of the square he came to a full stop, the throng being so great that he could not go further; and then, all of a sudden, there was a lull, and a single voice, as of a herald, was heard to exclaim, 'Vishnugupta has come hither from his hermitage. Give place to the priest and prophet!'
In the next instant the crowd divided reverently, and, through this living lane, a tall supernaturally lean figure, dressed in a long white robe, its one arm, that was bare, holding aloft a silver cage, through which shone the glowing red of living brands, came slowly. It stopped in front of the white horse and its rider. The sudden apparition of the weird, white-bearded figure, with the glowing brands, and the smell of smoke in her nostrils, were almost more than Snow-queen could bear. To the consternation of Subdul Khan, she fell back upon her haunches, snorting violently. But Tom kept his seat firmly, soothing her with his hand and voice, and in a few moments she was quiet again.
Then the deep sepulchral voice of the priest came towards him. 'I have come up from the grave,' he said, 'to see you. Who are you, and whence have you come?'
Firmly and proudly his answer leapt out. 'I have come from the Islands of the Sea, to be the rajah of this city and state. They who were the rulers of this people have sent me to reign over them. Take me to the prince's house and I will speak to them there!'
He was scarcely given time to finish, for the acclamations, which broke forth more tumultuously than ever, mingled now with sounds of weeping, as if, for some, the shock of gladness was too great to be borne.
'Our eyes have not deceived us. The voice is the voice of our rajah. He said he would come back to us, and he has kept his word. Rajah jee! Rajah jee! Come in with rejoicing!'
Tears filled the young ruler's eyes, and his heart throbbed passionately. Oh, if he could only speak to these people as he would! For in the pity and rapture of the moment all his own hopes and wishes were melting away. He was ready to give up everything, even his personality, which seemed to be slowly receding from him, for the sake of this people—this flock without a leader—that surged round him. Strange and solemn, as some of us dream the entry into the new life—the life of the resurrection—may be, were the moments that followed. The voices of the crowd seemed to be drawing him towards them, while, far away, like a half-forgotten image in a vanished dream, he saw the English youth with whom he had lived since his infancy. Only an hour before he had fought passionately to retain his hold on what he vainly called himself. Now he was conscious of no self. He belonged to this people, and to the power that was working in him, transforming all his impulses to its own creative will.
Slowly—the priest with the cage of living coals in his hand making a way for him—he passed through the lane of mute figures, and silent expectant faces, in which the rapture of his own heart was reflected, till he reached the north side of the square. Right in front of him towered a structure, larger and even more fantastic and brilliant than any other he had seen in the city. In colour it was a pale yellow, which, under the many lights, looked like gold, and the whole of the facade was covered with balconies, pavilions, and pillared alcoves, that, narrowing up from a broad base, had its apex in a small open tower of glass and shining metal. Within this tower was a lamp with powerful reflectors, which cast a beautiful moon-like radiance over the whole building, and into the small enclosed court in front of it.
Before the arched gateway that opened into this court Vishnugupta paused, and muttered a few words of invocation; at the same moment a tongue of white flame issued from the cage of fire in his hand. 'It is a good omen,' he said joyfully. 'Let my lord enter without fear! The spirits of fire and air bid him welcome. His rule will be as spotless as his heart is pure.'