[8]. It was believed that a convert who disappeared had been quietly starved to death in his home.
“But is it Christ-like to despise any human being whom God has made?” reflected Kripá Dé when left alone. “Did not the Sahib tell me that Peter was forbidden to call any one common or unclean? Is it not true that the Lord died for mihtars as well as for Brahmins? It cannot really pollute me to take water from a mitráni when I am dying of thirst. I will drink it, and thank God for the draught.”
It seemed to poor Kripá Dé that the longed-for water never would come, he had to wait so long, whilst eating and drinking were going on above; and now and then women and girls looked down on the prisoner, and laughingly asked him if he were ready for food.
The sun had by this time set, and one faint little star after another appeared in the sky. Then a low-caste woman, as Chand Kor had threatened, holding in one dirty hand a chapattie (unleavened cake), and in the other an earthen vessel, came down the outer steps, and without speaking put down what she had brought, then instantly quitted the spot. The mitráni was never suffered to sleep in the town, far less in the fort; but Thákar Dás having shut up the only door of communication with the lower stair, the sweeper had been thus accidentally detained a kind of prisoner in a place where she would not be allowed to cook her food, far less to eat it.
“I could not touch that chapattie—I am too miserable to be hungry,” thought Kripá Dé; “but, oh, the water! the water!”
The thirsty captive eagerly caught up the earthen vessel, and was about to drain it, when he caught sight of a face, pale with terror, the eyes dilated with fear, on the terrace above him, and heard a voice, the voice of Premi, exclaiming in a loud warning tone, “Do not drink! the water is poisoned!”
Kripá Dé sprang to his feet, and flung the vessel and its contents over the low parapet beside him into the court below. He did not doubt for an instant the truth of the warning; the playmate of his childhood would never deceive him, and it was only too probable that his family would prevent the disgrace of his baptism by a deed of secret murder.[[9]] But how was Kripá Dé to escape the double danger of dying of thirst or by poison? The poor youth rushed to the door at the head of the inner stairs, with a wild hope to find it unfastened, or to break it open by a desperate effort. Alas! it was fast shut, and its strength defied any human effort to force it. Only one desperate course remained, and the convert took it. He sprang over the parapet down into the court—a formidable leap, which no one had calculated on his attempting. It seemed to Kripá Dé that it was by miracle that he alighted on the ground unhurt, but he had not a moment for reflection. In an instant he dashed into the outer court. He made no attempt to open the door which led out of the fort; young, active, and desperate, Kripá Dé took a shorter way of escape by springing over the wall. He knew well that he would be pursued; he could hear the shrill call of the women on the roof who had seen his escape, and who gave an instant alarm. From the part of the building where men were eating and smoking rushed forth fierce pursuers. But Kripá Dé was fleeing for his life, terror lent him speed, and, unlike Alicia, the convert knew well the way to the mission bungalow; he could have reached it blindfold.
[9]. The authoress has had personal acquaintance with three natives on whom (two of them after recent baptism) such attempts have been made to destroy intellect, if not life.
The family in the bungalow, tired out by a day of such unusual excitement, Robin feverish from his wound, and Alicia from the fatigue and exposure which she had so lately undergone had resolved to retire very early to rest. Previous to so doing, they met to unite in evening devotions.
“We will not forget to pray for our poor Kripá Dé,” said Robin, as he was about to kneel down. The name was yet on his lips when the convert himself, pale and panting, rushed into the room and sank down at his feet.