“A woman’s best eloquence is silence!” exclaimed Fagir with impatience. “Bring me the pen and ink; I at once will write to the money-lender for two hundred and fifty rupees; he will send the sum without delay, for he knows that I am in government employ.”
As Fagir stretched forth his hand for the pen, his glance fell on the border of his stained garment, and he read the words on it,—Owe no man anything, but to love one another (Rom. xiii. 8).
It seemed as if Kasiti also had read the inscription, for she ventured again to speak. “Were it not well to welcome my lord’s kinsman with due honour,” she said, “but with less of expense and show? We have enough to enable us to show him hospitality, not for ten days only, but for thrice ten, if your guest be content to live as we live.”
“If Hosein should be content with so mean a reception, I should not be content!” exclaimed Fagir, his voice rising in wrath. “What! shall he who is the head of ten villages come for the first time under my roof, and find me living like a beggar? Wouldst thou have me to be dishonoured in his eyes, O thou ignorant and foolish woman? No! Hosein shall return to Delhi and report to all his neighbours that wealth and honour, much gold and many friends, are the portion of his relative Fagir!”
It was then as if a dust-storm had swept over the robe of Fagir: it darkened even as he spake; and black on the edge of the garment he beheld the inscription,—Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall (Prov. xvi. 18).
Vexed with himself, and all the more so because he saw tears in the eyes of Kasiti, Fagir quitted his dwelling to go, as usual, to his work at the cutcherry. The words of his wife, though slighted, rested on Fagir’s memory still: “Debt is a chain with which no servant of God should ever be bound.” It was a thing forbidden in the Bible! Fagir knew that there was no necessity for him to incur debt; it was pride alone, and thirst for the praise of men, which made him submit to be bound like a slave with the chain of debt.
“I shall soon cast it from me,” said Fagir to himself, as he went on his way. “If I manage skilfully, perhaps I may get that piece of land for even less than two hundred rupees, for the friends of that child know no more of business than I do of weaving shawls. But I must make my bargain quickly, or Mahmud, the man who ever crosses my path like a snake, will be purchasing the land himself; I know that he has for some time had his eye upon it. He is a grasping, unscrupulous fellow, and his presence to me is as the simoom to the traveller in the desert. But lo! do I not behold him coming towards me!”
Yes, it was Mahmud himself whom Fagir beheld approaching him in his dream.
“Salám!”[8] cried Mahmud; and Fagir respectfully returned the greeting, wishing the man whom he disliked health and all prosperity. The stain of deceit and hypocrisy was on the garment worn by Fagir.
“Have you heard of the sudden death of Pir Bakhsh?” asked Mahmud, detaining Fagir, who was about to pass on.