'You have put a maggot in my brain, Hoosanee, which will keep me from resting, I expect,' said Tom, speaking now in English.
But he was wrong. Contrary to Hoosanee's advice, his bed was laid out under the stars; and when, after an interval that seemed like a moment, he opened his eyes, to see a pale white dawn, ghastly as the face of the dead, stealing over the sky, and touching with cold fingers the gleaming tabernacles of snow and ice in front of him, he was conscious of having slept for many hours, and of feeling extraordinarily strengthened and refreshed.
So that day they went down to the foot of the hills, travelling thence by a good carriage road to Katmandu, the capital of Nepaul.
[CHAPTER XII]
A VISIT TO JUNG BAHADOOR
At Katmandu, the capital of Nepaul, Tom spent several days pleasantly. He was delighted with the city, the quaintness of whose architecture and the gay costumes and kindly ways of whose people gave him many new and agreeable sensations; while the reception accorded to him, both at the Residency and at the palace, which was presided over by that great and enlightened prime minister, Jung Bahadoor, left him nothing to desire.
Ever since he left Bareilly he had been thirsting for news; but news travelled slowly in the days before the Mutiny, and no one in the valleys had heard of the occurrence, which was looked upon by the enlightened as the breaking of the storm. On February 28, when Tom, with a light heart, was setting out to visit the English Resident at the Court of' the King of Nepaul, the 19th Native Infantry, standing trembling in their lines at Berhampore, were listening with dull hearts to the harangue of their irritated colonel, and refusing point-blank to receive the percussion-caps handed out to them.
From the wise and wily Jung Bahadoor Tom learned much concerning the true state of Indian affairs. He was relieved to find that in spite of the faults of the British raj—faults which this sagacious person was not slow to criticise—he had a profound belief not only in its general justice and beneficence, but that it was the only power which could for the present guarantee the land against anarchy. As such he and his people would support it.
At other times he spoke of the late rajah of Gumilcund, who had been one of his most intimate friends, giving the young heir much valuable information with regard to his character and aims. One evening, which Tom remembered long afterwards, on account of the influence it was destined to have upon his life, Jung Bahadoor invited him to a pavilion in the palace where he often spent his evenings. To the young heir their conversation was peculiarly interesting, although he did very little of the talking. Over his long hookah, which induced a meditative vein, the great minister recalled scene after scene out of the past—a past in which the late rajah of Gumilcund's name often figured. Tom heard of his cousin's wealth and magnificence, of his fine personality, of the adoration felt for him by his people. 'I believe,' said Jung Bahadoor, 'that they refuse to believe in his death.'