"Khodawund! (Lord of the World!) Forgive me! I did not know. I did not know."
It was the treacherous Rama who had tried to lead Dermot to his death. He lay face to the ground.
"Damned liar!" growled Barclay in English.
"Did not know that thou wert leading me under the feet of the must elephant?" demanded Dermot incredulously.
"Aye, that I knew of course, Huzoor. How can I deceive thee? But thee I knew not; though the elephant Shiva-ji did, even in his madness. It is not my fault. I am not of this country. I am a man of the Punjaub. I know naught of the gods of Bengal."
Barclay had heard from the planters the belief in Dermot's divinity which was universal in their district, and perceived that the legend had reached this man. He was quick to see the advantages that they could reap from his superstitious fears. He signed to Dermot to be silent and said in solemn tones:
"Rama, thou hast grievously offended the gods. Thou knowest the truth at last?"
"I do, Sahib. The talk through the Palace, aye, throughout the city, is all of the God of the Elephants, of the Terrible One who feeds his herd of demons on the flesh of men. The temple of Gunesh will be full indeed tonight. But alas! I am an ignorant man. I knew not that the holy one took form among the gora-logue (white folk)."
"The gods know no country. The truth, Rama, the truth," said Barclay impressively. "Else thou art lost. Shiva-ji, mayhap, is hungry and needs his meal of flesh."
"Ai! sahib, say not so," wailed the terror-stricken man. "He has feasted well today. With my own eyes I saw him feed on Man Singh the Rajput."