“I was so bitterly disappointed that I ran crying to my grandmother to tell her what had happened. The result was a great quarrel between her and my playmate’s mother, who resented my attempt to burn up her son. Other women joined in the dispute, and the noise and wrangling lasted for more than an hour. All that I had at last was a rebuke, not for wishing to kill my companion, but for parting with my Brahminical thread, which was soon replaced by another.”
[5]. This strange story is no invention of my own imagination; it is the relation of what he himself did, copied almost verbatim from an address by T. K. Chatterji, a talented Christian native gentleman, who had once been a Brahmin. Here indeed truth is stranger than fiction!
This extraordinary revelation of what the spirit of Brahminism is made a strong impression on Robin. It was a glimpse of the features of the demon with whom the young knight of the Cross was to combat till death should end the struggle. Robin repeated the story of Kripá Dé to Alicia that evening.
“I can hardly believe that one who looks so gentle, so mild, could ever have been possessed by such demons of pride, hatred, and malice,” she exclaimed.
“The Master has cast out the demons,” observed Robin, “and the convert is now sitting at the Lord’s feet, clothed and in his right mind. What a miracle of grace is a proud Brahmin’s conversion!”
The return of Mr. Hartley and Harold was watched for eagerly by the little group in the mission home. Many a time Robin quitted the bungalow to look down the road and watch for his father’s return. The last gleam of light faded from the sky, the stars shone out, but the missionaries had not returned. Kripá Dé was sent to sleep on the roof; but Alicia and Robin sat up watching, growing more and more impatient as hour after hour passed on. At last their uncertainty was ended by the return of the sais (groom) who had accompanied Mr. Hartley. The man brought a note from Harold. What information it contained will be given in the following chapter.
CHAPTER XIII
OUT IN CAMP.
Mr. Hartley and his son proceeded on their way towards Patwal, the slow pace of the tattu allowing them to converse together, as Harold walked beside his father, the sais following behind on foot. The conversation was chiefly on subjects connected with mission work.
After a while Patwal was reached. Between the stems of trees in a thick mango tope white tents were seen, on which the golden rays of the sun about to set cast a rich warm glow. At a short distance the camels which had carried tents and luggage were tethered, some crouching on the ground, some browsing on the lower branches of trees. Turbaned servants were moving hither and thither. Extemporized fire-places in the open air, from whose neighbourhood sundry savoury scents proceeded, showed that the Sahib’s dinner was in course of preparation. Mr. Hartley dismounted and gave his card to one of the attendants, to be taken to the Commissioner Sahib. After a short delay the servant returned with his master’s saláms, the Oriental formula of admitting a guest. As the Hartleys approached the large, square, flat-roofed tent of Mr. Thole, they heard the commissioner’s voice from within give the order to lay dinner for three. India is the land of hospitality; even had Mr. Thole never before met either of his visitors, he would have welcomed them to his well-spread board.