"A simple religion," smiled the Rajput.
"And therefore the best. It is the religion of Islam freed from all the controversies of rival sects and over-learned mullahs. It is the religion of my fathers and the religion of my youth, and in it I abide. Let me tell you a story of the rough school in which I received my early training and where such thoughts as these first began to sink deep into my mind.
"Have you ever heard of Shir Jumla Khan? No? Well, that is doubtless because he has been dead for a full score of years, and because he held his sway in a land remote from these plains of Hindustan, up in the rugged mountains, where brave tribesmen guard the valleys which their ancestors tilled, and yield allegiance to no one but their own hereditary chieftains. Such was my country and my people, for I am proud that in my veins runs the blood of the man who for a hundred miles around my boyhood home was known as The Tiger of the Pathans. Behold in me a grandson of Shir Jumla Khan."
The narrator folded his arms across his breast, in an attitude of quiet dignity. After just a moment's pause he continued:
"We were all born fighters, the members of my clan, for during hundreds of years many a swarming host had swept past the gateways of our territory, Persians, Arabs, Afghans, Moguls, Turkmans, hordes of fighting men of every race and tongue, sometimes marching south bent on conquest, at other times returning to their homes laden with rich spoils, and yet at other times defeated and broken, with enemies pressing at their heels. And it was the patrimonial right of our tribe to take toll from all alike, from victors and vanquished, from pursuers and pursued.
"Sometimes an army would pass through our mountains under safe conduct from all the tribes, and the price paid in money, horses, camels, and cattle, cloths and other goods, would be divided among the several clans. But in this practice there had grown to be more danger for ourselves than from forays or assaults on passing enemies, because over the division of the spoils there would be quarrelling, followed by fighting, among the tribes. Thus had originated many a blood feud enduring through many generations.
"In the early days of Shir Jumla Khan it had come about that several rich caravans had fallen exclusively into his hands. With the money thus provided by the bountifulness of Allah, he had been enabled to build for himself a citadel that for vastness and security surpassed those of all his rivals among the tribal chiefs. Within its wide walls were wells and water tanks, gardens for the growing of fruits and vegetables, warehouses for goods, granaries stored with barley, wheat, and dal, stables for a hundred horses, sheds for the housing of cattle, sheep, and camels, and dwelling places for a goodly multitude of armed men, their wives and their children. And all of these things endure until this day, for the fortress town amid the mountains built by my grandsire, The Tiger of the Pathans, has ever remained unconquered and unconquerable.
"But as Shir Jumla Khan grew rich in possessions and in power—for scores of fighting men from afar were attracted to his service—at the same time did his position among the tribesmen become one of increasing isolation. All feared him and envied him, and fear and envy have ever been breeders of hate. Yet was he a just and a benevolent man, honoured and beloved by every one within his domain, where his slightest word was gladly accepted law, not because of the might he wielded but because of his fairness to all men.
"I was yet a young man when a widely spread plot among the rival tribesmen to destroy Shir Jumla Khan's power had come to a head, and had resulted in a determined and prolonged attack upon his citadel. Numbers had told, our outlying fields had been devastated, our flocks and herds driven away, and crowded within the walls of the fortress were refugees from all the surrounding countryside. We had been cooped up through the summer, we had lost our annual crops, and without the usual replenishment granaries and warehouses were beginning to wear an empty look, with but sorry promise for the winter. But, calm and undismayed, his proud look and serene smile ever the same, Shir Jumla Khan continued to feed the hungry host within his gates and now absolutely dependent upon his protection.