Not a sound was heard.
Then he said:
"Men of Lalpuri, who have come among these fools in thirst for blood. You have heard of me. You have seen my power. You see me. Go back to your city. Tell them there that I, who fed my elephants on the flesh of your comrades in the forest, shall come to them riding on my steed sacred to Gunesh. If they spare the evil counselors among them, then them I will not spare. Of their city no stone shall remain. Go back to them and bear this message to all within and without the walls, 'The British Raj shall endure. It is my will.' Tell them to engrave it on their hearts, on their children's hearts."
He paused. Then he spoke again:
"Rise, all ye people. Ye have my leave to go."
Noiselessly they obeyed. He watched them move away in terrified silence. Not a whisper was heard.
Then he smiled as he said to himself:
"That should keep them quiet."
He turned Badshah towards the bungalow.
Forty miles away, when darkness fell on the mountains that night, the army of the invaders slept soundly in their bivouacs around the doomed post of Ranga Duar. On the morrow the last feeble resistance of its garrison must cease, and happy those of the defenders who died. Luckless they that lived. For the worst tortures that even China knew would be theirs.