The flame-gatherers

by Margaret Horton Potter

Fidá had risen to his feet; but he stood with his head so bent that the Rajah could not see his face. “I have a favor to ask my lord,” he said, still in the muffled tone that could not be interpreted.

“Speak.”

“Will the Rajah permit that, till the time of my freedom, I may remain as I am now:—the cup-bearer of my lord?”

“What! Art not a prince? Wouldst thou remain a slave?”

“I asked a favor of my lord.”

“Then it is granted, Asra. But, by the bolt of Indra, I understand thee not!” And, displeased with his captive’s request, he got up and strode out of the room. Fidá stood there alone, staring at the floor, with a curling, sorrowful smile on his lips, and a deep melancholy in his eyes. For Fidá knew his race well; and he was perfectly aware that, though an army of twenty thousand Mohammedans might storm the plateau of Mandu for the simple purpose of taking him out of captivity, yet they would never pay one-half of the ransom demanded; and, should they take the oath of brotherhood with an infidel, it would be for the purpose of plundering him at the first opportunity. Entertaining, then, from the first, no false hope of freedom, Fidá preferred remaining in his present state as personal servant of a king, to mutilation and degradation when the answer that his uncle would send should reach the ears of Rai-Khizar-Pál. Understanding all this, and having the courage to face it from the first, Fidá was none the less bitter at heart at the thought of it. And it was with dragging steps and a darkened face that he finally set off toward the house of slaves.

There, as he had hoped, he found Ahmed, unoccupied and awake. The brightness of the boy’s face at sight of his master roused Fidá a little from his mood, and his eyes had lost their sombreness when, side by side with his young companion, he left the chattering veranda, and walked in the direction of the great courtyard. As they went, they talked in their native tongue, and Ahmed, his boyish spirits always light, recounted all the gossip of under-life in the great palace which had not come to Fidá’s ears. The Mohammedan boy had made himself very popular even among the Indian slaves; and he, like all servants, was in possession of intimate details of the higher life that would have astonished and nonplussed certain august personages. His chatter was innocent enough, however. One of the slave-women in the zenana had had a quarrel with Bhimeg, the second wife, over a pet paroquet. Purán and Kanava had had a trial of strength in wrestling, and Kanava had come out victor. Two of the eunuchs of the zenana were just dead of a fever. And so on, infinitely, till Fidá had ceased to listen, and was occupied with his own thoughts, which had suddenly turned in another direction. After all, did he really wish to leave Mandu? Was there not something here that could not be taken away; something that was not to be found in any other country of the earth? Dwelt not the fairest woman in the world here, in the place of his captivity? Did he really desire to leave her land even for princely honors? Nay. It might be impossible that he should see her again; yet always she was here, and here only, the lady of his secret heart.

The two companions, loitering through the great courtyard, finally entered the temple room of Vishnu, that began the south wing of the palace. A curious place, this temple, devoted to that species of half-formed Hindooism that was at this time the prevailing religion of India. Into this religion, as into a gigantic pie, had been thrown pell-mell the doctrines of ancient Vedic worship, the religion of the great Triad, the worst side of dying Buddhism, and the Philosophies, insulted by their anthropomorphitic company. This temple room was a fair specimen of the mingled faiths. On one side, decked and carved with the symbols of fifty other gods, the images of Vishnu and Lakshmi reclined upon a throne about which was entwined the great serpent Sesha, symbol of eternity, in whose coils was caught a golden lotus, from which Brahma and the demigods had, in the beginning, come forth. Over the head of Vishnu hung a wooden monkey, representing Hanuman, the friend of Vishnu; and three or four living members of the chattering tribe dwelt in the room. Around the three other walls were images of different gods, all comparatively insignificant, but each with his priest and a sect, however small, of worshippers. At any hour of the day, indeed, but especially in the morning and in the evening, there were to be found from one to twenty worshippers seated on the floor before the various deities, engaged in performing an Agnihotra or an Ishti for prosperity and good fortune.

In the dusk of this holy place, lighted by its fires, Fidá and Ahmed continued their low-voiced talk, which had now turned upon the long-standing feud between Kasya, chief of the eunuchs, and Kanava, the slavemaster. Kanava was high in the favor of Ragunáth; but Kasya, heart and soul devoted to his Rajah, found little favor in Ragunáth’s eyes.

“Kanava,” Ahmed said, “is Ragunáth’s spy; and he can go anywhere in the palace except into the zenana. Kasya watches his eunuchs, so that Kanava has never been able to get in there; and I have heard one of the eunuchs say that he has tried to bribe every one of them to let him in. They say that Ragunáth is in love with one of the women—”