“I acknowledge that it may be difficult; still, it is worth trying for.”
The conversation, which was very interesting to Siddha, continued for some time, and then the two friends, taking leave, mounted their horses and continued their journey. A brisk but rather long ride, which obliged them more than once to halt and rest, brought them in sight of the heights on which the palace of Fathpúr was built. However striking had been the first view of the palaces of Agra, this was not less so. The buildings rising one above another, as though built on terraces, stood out proud and stately against the sky, with their tall towers, and sharply cut battlements. Broad marble steps glittered in the sunshine, here and there overshadowed by the thick green of tamarinds and other trees.
As Siddha and his companion, leaving their horses to the charge of their servants, entered the precincts of the palace itself, the former, though less astonished, was far more delighted than he had been with his first view of Agra. The gardens pleased him more, and were more satisfying to the eye, for here no wrong was done to nature; the paths, instead of being laid out with uniform regularity, followed the unevenness of the ground, and were thickly overshadowed by luxuriant vegetation. And what a magnificent and refreshing view over the neighbouring hills and fields, rich and golden with corn, and over the silver shining river! For some time the two wandered about, sometimes through solitary groves, and then through galleries filled with guards and servants. At last Parviz proposed they should go to the lower town to seek their lodgings, and to obtain better refreshment than had been possible on the road. This proposal was willingly agreed to; and after the two friends had enjoyed the needful repose, they again sallied out to visit what was to be seen in the town.
“Excuse me,” said Parviz, “if I leave you for a few minutes. I have to give some papers from my uncle to one of his officers here, and to speak to him about some affairs which will not interest you. He lives close by, and I shall be back immediately. In the meantime you can visit that old temple yonder, surrounded with acacias; or, if you like it better, pay your devotions there.”
“Very much obliged,” he answered, laughing; “I scarcely care to do that, but I will willingly visit the temple, and will await you close by.”
Siddha had hardly entered the vaulted, dimly-lit building before he recognised it as a temple of Siva by the numerous emblematic ornaments on the pillars, and, advancing a few steps, he saw at the furthest end a kind of hall lighted from above, where was placed a colossal image of the god, seated cross-legged on a lotus, his arms and ancles ornamented with numberless rings, the symbol of the trinity on his forehead, and a necklace of skulls around his neck. Siva was the immortal ruler of the world, creating to destroy, and destroying to create afresh, endless in his manifestation and transformation of being, from whence all takes origin, and to which everything must return. Well as our young Indian understood the idea represented by these images and their symbols, the mis-shapen, monstrous figures struck him with the same feeling of repulsion as they had done when he first beheld them. The temple itself was not wanting in beauty, though disfigured by the grotesque representations on the walls.
He had not been long alone before he heard a voice behind him, although the silence was unbroken by any sound of footsteps.
“Om,” sounded through the stillness; “Om, the unworthy servant of Siva’s holy consort greets thee, O Moral Force.”
Turning to the spot from whence came the voice, Siddha recognised the Durga priest Gorakh, whom he had seen in company with his uncle at Allahabad. “I greet you, holy man,” he said, and awaited what the other should say.
“So, then, we have not forgotten each other since our last meeting,” replied the priest. “In truth I have not lost sight of you since I saw you in the neighbourhood of Badrinath.”