“Would you forgive that woman of yours who deserted you, Zahed?” cried Bakhita from below.
“Surely I forgive her,” answered Rupert. “It would be strange if I did not do so, seeing that by her act she has made me happier, I think, than ever a man was before,” and he turned and smiled again at Mea, who smiled back at him.
Then up in that audience stood a blind old teacher, a mystic learned in the law, one who was beloved of the people for his wisdom and his good deeds, and yet perhaps at heart somewhat jealous of the new white prophet to whom they had turned of late.
“Hearken, Zahed!” he said. “I with the others have listened to your address, and I approve its spirit as I deplore the crimes that were its text. Yet it seems to me that you miss the root of the matter. Answer me if I am wrong. God oppressed you; He tried you for His own reasons; He rolled you in the mire; He brought down your soul to hell. The wife of your bosom, she deserted you, when you were in trouble then she struck as only a woman can. She said: ‘Beggar, be gone; remove your rags and hideousness from before me. I will shelter with a richer lord.’ So you went, and what did you? You did not bow yourself before the decree of God, you did not say: ‘I rejoice in the tempest as in the sunshine; I acknowledge that I have deserved it all, and I give thanks now that my mouth is empty as I gave them when it was full.’ No; you said—be not angry with me, Zahed, for a spirit is in my lips and I speak for your instruction. You said: ‘I will not bear this pain. My soul is hot, it hisses. I will quench it in the waters of death. I will drug myself with death; I will go to sleep because God my Maker has dealt hardly with me.’
“Then God your Maker bowed Himself down and spoke to you out of heaven, by His magic He spoke to you; He showed you a face upon the waters, the face of one who loved you still, and thereby saved you alive. You came; you found the face which smiled on you; you kept the letter of your oath to the false woman, but you broke its spirit. You loved her, our lady Tama, and she loved you; you said, both of you: ‘We renounce because we love so much. We are good lest in time to come our sin should separate us. To gain much you gave a little, you whose eyes are opened, you who see something of the truth, who know that this life is no more than the oasis of Tama compared to the great stars above, those stars which you will one day travel.’
“Listen to me, Zahed, I speak for your instruction. I do not blame you, nor do I think God will blame you who made you of the mud beneath His feet, not of the light about His head. He will have pity. He will say: ‘Mud, you have done well—for mud.’ But I am His advocate here, to-day it is given to me to be His voice. Answer Him a question now if you can. If not, remain silent and weep because you are still mud. You hold yourself bound to this base woman, who should be beaten with rods, do you not? You acknowledge it openly, who will not take another wife. You preach the doctrine of forgiveness to us, do you not? You say that you forgive her. Why? Nay, be silent, now the Voice is in my mouth—not in yours. Speak presently when you have heard it. You forgive her because her wickedness has worked your weal; because she has brought you to love and to honour among men.
“Well, now; hear me and make answer. If that accursed woman, that daughter of Satan, were to come hither to-day, if she were to say to you: ‘I repent, who was wicked. I love, who hated. I put you in mind of the oath you swore. I demand that you leave the sweet lady at your side and the people who worship you, and the gardens that you have made and the wells that you have digged, and return to live with me in a hell of streets upon which the sun never shines, that I may give you children to build up the pillars of your house, and that I may grow great in your shadow.’
“Tell us now, what would you answer her? Would you say: ‘Is not my name Zahed? Therefore I come, I come at once;’ and thereby show us that you are perfect indeed? Or, would you say: ‘Woman, you built the wall, you broke the bridge, you dug the gulf. I am lame, I cannot climb; I am afraid, I dare not swim; I have no wings, I may not fly. I forgive you afar; I do not forgive you at my side. I love you and all mankind, but I will not touch your hand. I give to you the writings of divorce.’ Would you speak thus, and let us see that you are still a man of mud? Answer now the question that God puts to you through my lips, Zahed. Or if you cannot answer, you who preach Renunciation and Forgiveness, here is mud, smear it on your forehead and be silent.”
Now Mea had been listening, with a great and ever-growing indignation, to this long address, designed to set out one of those test cases which are so dear to Eastern religious thought and methods, and to force a holy man to admit that, after all, he is full of error.
“I at least will answer,” she broke in, before Rupert could speak a word. “Who is this jealous-hearted, white-headed fool that fills the air with sand, like the Campsine blast; that stains the clear pool with dirt, like a thirsty camel; that says the Spirit of God is in his lips, those lips that utter wind and emptiness; that tries to convict of sin where there is no sin, and to show one who is a thousandfold his better, a new path to heaven? Did God then decree when a man has been rolled in mire and washed himself clean again, that he should return to the mire at the bidding of her who befouled him? Did God decree that a man should leave those with whom he lives in innocence, to share the home of his betrayer whom he hates? Is it virtue to be made vile? Is it righteous to clothe oneself in the rags of another’s wickedness? Make reply, you babbler, old in self-conceit, you who think to gain honour by defeating your lord in words before his people. Make reply, you that wrap yourself with words as with a garment, and sit upon pride as a sheepskin, and say, wherefore should the true be thrust aside for the false? Wherefore should my heart be widowed, that another who sowed thistles may pluck flowers?”