The Rajah's Heir / A Novel in 3 volumes

by C. Despard

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?'