Madhav. Our headman Panchanan has had it told to the King anonymously.
Gaffer. Aren't we aware that everything reaches the King's ears?
Madhav. Then why don't you look out? Why take the King's name in vain? You'll bring me to ruin if you do.
Amal. Say, Fakir, will the King be cross?
Gaffer. Cross, nonsense! And with a child like you and a fakir such as I am. Let's see if the King be angry, and then won't I give him a piece of my mind.
Amal. Say, Fakir, I've been feeling a sort of darkness coming over my eyes since the morning. Everything seems like a dream. I long to be quiet. I don't feel like talking at all. Won't the King's letter come? Suppose this room melts away all on a sudden, suppose- Gaffer [Fanning Amal] The letter's sure to come to-day, my boy.
[Doctor enters]
Doctor And how do you feel to-day?
Amal. Feel awfully well to-day, Doctor. All pain seems to have left me.
Doctor [Aside to Madhav] Don't quite like the look of that smile. Bad sign that, his feeling well! Chakradhan has observed- Madhav. For goodness sake, Doctor, leave Chakradhan alone. Tell me what's going to happen?
Doctor. Can't hold him in much longer, I fear! I warned you before-This looks like a fresh exposure.
Madhav. No, I've used the utmost care, never let him out of doors; and the windows have been shut almost all the time.
Doctor. There's a peculiar quality in the air to-day. As I came in I found a fearful draught through your front door. That's most hurtful. Better lock it at once. Would it matter if this kept your visitors off for two or three days? If someone happens to call unexpectedly-there's the back door. You had better shut this window as well, it's letting in the sunset rays only to keep the patient awake.
Madhav. Amal has shut his eyes. I expect he is sleeping. His face tells me-Oh, Doctor, I bring in a child who is a stranger and love him as my own, and now I suppose I must lose him!
Doctor. What's that? There's your headman sailing in!-What a bother! I must be going, brother. You had better stir about and see to the doors being properly fastened. I will send on a strong dose directly I get home. Try it on him-it may save him at last, if he can be saved at all. [Exeunt Madhav and Doctor.]
[The Headman enters]
Headman. Hello, urchin!
Gaffer [Rising hastily] 'Sh, be quiet.
Amal. No, Fakir, did you think I was asleep? I wasn't. I can hear everything; yes, and voices far away. I feel that mother and father are sitting by my pillow and speaking to me.
[Madhav enters]
Headman. I say, Madhav, I hear you hobnob with bigwigs nowadays.
Madhav. Spare me your jests, Headman, we are but common people.
Headman. But your child here is expecting a letter from the King.
Madhav. Don't you take any notice of him, a mere foolish boy!
Headman. Indeed, why not! It'll beat the King hard to find a better family! Don't you see why the King plants his new Post Office right before your win- dow? Why there's a letter for you from the King, urchin.
Amal [Starting up] Indeed, really!
Headman. How can it be false? You're the King's chum. Here's your letter [showing a blank slip of paper]. Ha, ha, ha! This is the letter.
Amal. Please don't mock me. Say, Fakir, is it so?
Gaffer. Yes, my dear. I as Fakir tell you it is his letter.
Amal. How is it I can't see? It all looks so blank to me. What is there in the letter, Mr. Headman?
Headman. The King says, "I am calling on you shortly; you had better arrange puffed rice offerings for me.-Palace fare is quite tasteless to me now." Ha! ha! ha!
Madhav [With folded palms] I beseech you, headman, don't you joke about these things- Gaffer. Cutting jokes indeed, dare he!
Madhav. Are you out of your mind too, Gaffer?
Gaffer. Out of my mind, well then I am; I can read plainly that the King writes he will come himself to see Amal, with the state physician.
Amal. Fakir, Fakir, 'sh, his trumpet! Can't you hear?
Headman. Ha! ha! ha! I fear he won't until he's a bit more off his head.
Amal. Mr. Headman, I thought you were cross with me and didn't love me. I never could think you would fetch me the King's letter. Let me wipe the dust off your feet.
Headman. This little child does have an instinct of reverence. Though a little silly, he has a good heart.
Amal. It's hard on the fourth watch now, I suppose-Hark the gong, "Dong, dong, ding," "Dong, dong, ding." Is the evening star up? How is it I can't see- Gaffer. Oh, the windows are all shut, I'll open them.
[A knocking outside]
Madhav. What's that?-Who is it-what a bother!
Voice [From outside] Open the door.
Madhav Say, Headman-Hope they're not robbers.
Headman Who's there?-It's Panchanan, the headman, calls-Aren't you afraid of the like of me? Fancy! The noise has ceased! Panchanan's voice carries far.-Yes, show me the biggest robbers!
Madhav [Peering out of the window] I should think the noise has ceased. they've smashed the door.
[The King's Herald enters]
Herald. Our Sovereign King comes to-night!
Headman. My God!
Amal. At what hour of the night, Herald?
Herald. On the second watch.
Amal. When from the city gates my friend the watchman will strike his gong, "ding dong ding, ding dong ding"-then?
Herald. Yes, then. The King sends his greatest physician to attend on his young friend.
[State Physician enters]
State Physician. What's this? How close it is here! Open wide all the doors and windows. [Feeling Amal's body] How do you feel, my child?
Amal. I feel very well, Doctor, very well. All pain is gone. How fresh and open! I can see all the stars now twinkling from the other side of the dark.
Physician. Will you feel well enough to leave your bed with the King when he comes in the middle watches of the night?
Amal. Of course, I'm dying to be about for ever so long. I'll ask the King to find me the polar star.-I must have seen it often, but I don't know exactly which it is.
Physician. He will tell you everything. [To Madhav] Will you go about and arrange flowers through the room for the King's visit? [Indicating the Headman] We can't have that person in here.
Amal. No, let him be, Doctor. He is a friend. It was he who brought me the King's letter.
Physician. Very well, my child. He may remain if he is a friend of yours.
Madhav [Whispering into Amal's ear] My child, the King loves you. He is coming himself. Beg for a gift from him. You know our humble circumstances.
Amal. Don't you worry, Uncle.-I've made up my mind about it.
Madhav. What is it, my child?
Amal. I shall ask him to make me one of his postmen that I may wander far and wide, delivering his message from door to door.
Madhav [Slapping his forehead] Alas, is that all?
Amal. What'll be our offerings to the King, Uncle, when he comes?
Herald. He has commanded puffed rice.
Amal. Puffed rice! Say, Headman, you're right. You said so. You knew all we didn't.
Headman. If you send word to my house then I could manage for the King's advent really nice- Physician. No need at all. Now be quiet all of you. Sleep is coming over him. I'll sit by his pillow; he's dropping into slumber. Blow out the oil-lamp. Only let the star-light stream in. Hush, he slumbers.
Madhav [Addressing Gaffer] What are you standing there for like a statue, folding your palms.-I am nervous.-Say, are they good omens? Why are they darkening the room? How will star-light help?
Gaffer. Silence, unbeliever.
[Sudha enters]
Sudha. Amal!
Physician. He's asleep.
Sudha. I have some flowers for him. Mayn't I give them into his own hand?
Physician. Yes, you may.
Sudha. When will he be awake?
Physician. Directly the King comes and calls him.
Sudha. Will you whisper a word for me in his ear?
Physician. What shall I say?
Sudha. Tell him Sudha has not forgotten him.
CURTAIN.
The Hungry Stones and Other Stories
PREFACE.
THE stories contained in this volume were translated by several hands. The version of The Victory is the author's own work. The seven stories which follow it were translated by Mr. C. F. Andrews, with the author's help. Assistance has also been given by the Rev. E. J. Thompson, Panna Lal Basu, Prabhat Kumar Mukerji, and the Sister Nivedita.
THE HUNGRY STONES.
MY kinsman and myself were returning to Calcutta from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. From his dress and bearing we took him at first for an up-country Mahomedan, but we were puzzled as we heard him talk. He discoursed upon all subjects so confidently that you might think the Disposer of All Things consulted him at all times in all that He did. Hitherto we had been perfectly happy, as we did not know that secret and unheard-of forces were at work, that the Russians had advanced close to us, that the English had deep and secret policies, that confusion among the native chiefs had come to a head. But our newly-acquired friend said with a sly smile: "There happen more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are reported in your newspapers." As we had never stirred out of our homes before, the demeanour of the man struck us dumb with wonder. Be the topic ever so trivial, he would quote science, or comment on the Vedas, or repeat quatrains from some Persian poet; and as we had no pretence to a knowledge of science or the Vedas or Persian, our admiration for him went on increasing, and my kinsman, a theosophist, was firmly convinced that our fellow-passenger must have been supernaturally inspired by some strange "magnetism" or "occult power," by an "astral body" or something of that kind. He listened to the tritest saying that fell from the lips of our extraordinary companion with devotional rapture, and secretly took down notes of his conversation. I fancy that the extraordinary man saw this, and was a little pleased with it.
When the train reached the junction, we assembled in the waiting-room for the connection. It was then 10 P. M., and as the train, we heard, was likely to be very late, owing to something wrong in the lines, I spread my bed on the table and was about to lie down for a comfortable doze, when the extraordinary person deliberately set about spinning the following yarn. Of course, I could get no sleep that night.
When, owing to a disagreement about some questions of administrative policy, I threw up my post at Junagarh, and entered the service of the Nizam of Hyderabad, they appointed me at once, as a strong young man, collector of cotton duties at Barich.
Barich is a lovely place. The Susta "chatters over stony ways and babbles on the pebbles," tripping, like a skilful dancing girl, in through the woods below the lonely hills. A flight of 150 steps rises from the river, and above that flight, on the river's brim and at the foot of the hills, there stands a solitary marble palace. Around it there is no habitation of man-the village and the cotton mart of Barich being far off.
About 250 years ago the Emperor Mahmud Shah II. had built this lonely palace for his pleasure and luxury. In his days jets of rose-water spurted from its fountains, and on the cold marble floors of its spray-cooled rooms young Persian damsels would sit, their hair dishevelled before bathing, and, splashing their soft naked feet in the clear water of the reservoirs, would sing, to the tune of the guitar, the ghazals of their vineyards.
The fountains play no longer; the songs have ceased; no longer do snow-white feet step gracefully on the snowy marble. It is but the vast and solitary quarters of cess-collectors like us, men oppressed with solitude and deprived of the society of women. Now, Karim Khan, the old clerk of my office, warned me repeatedly not to take up my abode there. "Pass the day there, if you like," said he, "but never stay the night." I passed it off with a light laugh. The servants said that they would work till dark, and go away at night. I gave my ready assent. The house had such a bad name that even thieves would not venture near it after dark.
At first the solitude of the deserted palace weighed upon me like a nightmare. I would stay out, and work hard as long as possible, then return home at night jaded and tired, go to bed and fall asleep.
Before a week had passed, the place began to exert a weird fascination upon me. It is difficult to describe or to induce people to believe; but I felt as if the whole house was like a living organism slowly and imperceptibly digesting me by the action of some stupefying gastric juice.
Perhaps the process had begun as soon as I set my foot in the house, but I distinctly remember the day on which I first was conscious of it.
It was the beginning of summer, and the market being dull I had no work to do. A little before sunset I was sitting in an arm-chair near the water's edge below the steps. The Susta had shrunk and sunk low; a broad patch of sand on the other side glowed with the hues of evening; on this side the pebbles at the bottom of the clear shallow waters were glistening. There was not a breath of wind anywhere, and the still air was laden with an oppressive scent from the spicy shrubs growing on the hills close by.
As the sun sank behind the hill-tops a long dark curtain fell upon the stage of day, and the intervening hills cut short the time in which light and shade mingle at sunset. I thought of going out for a ride, and was about to get up when I heard a foot-fall on the steps behind. I looked back, but there was no one.