CHAPTER VI
CHURI
Fidá had lived in the palace of Mandu for nearly a month before he had his first glimpse of one of the most important persons in the lower stratum of its life, a man with whom he was later to become but too familiar:—Churi, the eunuch. They beheld each other first, distantly, in the poppy field. On the evening of that same day they met again. It was about sunset, and Fidá was at the well in front of the house of slaves, washing out certain of the Rajah’s drinking vessels, when he became aware of a white-robed figure standing at his side, and, turning, gave a sudden start to find himself gazing into a pair of eyes one of which was of a lustrous brown, the other of a pale, greenish hue. The owner of the eyes smiled slightly; and then Fidá recalled Ahmed’s description of the doctor, he whose position ranked next to that of Kasya among the guardians of the zenana.
“Thou art Churi,” observed Fidá, wondering if the man had seen him start.
Churi nodded, and took thoughtful survey of the Mohammedan. During this look Fidá felt, uncomfortably, that his secret soul had been penetrated by those singular eyes. Churi’s words, however, when he spoke again, were simple enough: “Did Ragunáth trouble thee to-day?”
Fidá smiled. “Nay. Why dost thou ask?”
“His face boded thee no good when I saw it. He is a man scrupling not to lie.”
“Have I lived a month in Mandu and know not that?”
Churi chuckled. “Thou hast no need of help?” said he.
“None.”
“Then I will delay thee no longer. Yet remember that no slave in this palace need have any fear of that mighty counsellor.”