“But,” asked Siddha, doubtfully, after a moment’s thought, “is that honourable?”
“Young man,” answered Salhana, in a dignified tone, although his countenance expressed no anger, “let me remark to you that a man of my age and experience should know well what is honourable and what is not; and you, only just commencing your part in life, should not attempt to give counsel on such a subject.”
“Forgive me, uncle,” answered Siddha, “you know that I am still so little acquainted with the principles of state affairs, that I cannot understand them at once; and, also, Kulluka, my guru,[3] has always impressed on me to follow the right path, and never to act ambiguously towards anyone, and——”
“Kulluka, my best friend,” interrupted the other, “is an excellent man, for whom I have the greatest respect; but he is a man of learning, not of facts; a man of theory, not of what is practical. See, now, your country and people, who are dear to you, are threatened by a prince whom you look upon with admiration, and would willingly serve in all but that one thing. You should hold it as a duty to work against him in this, as far as possible. The opportunity is now opened to you, not entirely, but in a certain measure. Should you now spurn this opportunity, because of an exaggerated idea of political honour? And does he himself act with honour in accepting your services and mine while at the same time he has designs on our king and country? and if not, what claim has he on such special loyalty on our side? Moreover, go, if you will, to Akbar, and say to his face, if you dare, that you see through his plans and will oppose them; and before the day is over, my good friend, you will be fettered in a dungeon, or on your way banished to the furthest bounds of the Dakhin or Bengal, if worse does not befall you. Such opposition would be of no service to us; far otherwise would it be to make good use of favourable opportunities. By doing so, there would be no harm done to the prince, while, on the other hand, we may perchance save our fatherland from destruction.”
Not convinced, but still not knowing how to refute such reasoning, Siddha vainly sought for an answer, and remained silent, waiting for what his uncle might have further to say. But he appeared to consider the interview at an end, and made a movement to rise, when, in the path leading to the place where they were seated, a figure appeared, just such a one as would attract Siddha’s attention and draw his thoughts from the preceding conversation. He was tall, brown, and closely shaven all but a single long lock of hair; his right arm and breast were naked excepting for the sacred cord of the Brahmans; a narrow white garment was thrown round his emaciated limbs. His sunken dull eyes and hollow cheeks spoke of long fasts and severe penances. Although not easily alarmed by man or beast, and accustomed to strange appearances, yet for a moment Siddha started back. Many a tiger had he slain in the jungle, and without fear killed many a deadly snake, yet he could not overcome a feeling of horror at this sudden appearance.
“Gorakh[4] the Yogi,”[5] explained Salhana, “priest of the Durga[6] temple, yonder on the hills. Meet him with respect; he deserves it, and has more to impart to you than you suspect.”
Gliding rather than walking, the priest approached the two men who had stood up to receive him, and, raising his clasped hands to his forehead, he said, in a slow, drawling voice, “Om, Om![7] You, the favoured of the Lord of the World, and of Durga his glorious consort. Om!”
“I greet you well, most honoured Gorakh,” answered Salhana to this curious salutation; “you see here my nephew Siddha Rama, from Kashmir, of whom I have already spoken to you.”
“He is welcome,” was Gorakh’s reply; “and may he, above the strife of disunion, know how to lay the foundation that leads to the endless blessings of union, wherein you, my friend, begin more and more to recognise the true part of salvation. Yet,” continued he, after a moment of dignified silence, “the experience of life must teach him the way, as it has done for you and me. We must allow the time needed for the scholar. In truth, I know him, and know that he will belong to us.” And here he turned to Siddha: “It is but lately that I met you.”
“Pardon me, honoured lord,” was the reply; “that I cannot recall.”