CHAPTER XII.THE NIGHT OF PRAYER.
As the night came on and the glorious moon rose high into the heavens, bathing all in its silvery rays, the very beauty of the scene made our friends forget the horrors of the night before. They had assembled in the garden, and the swinging chairs, as they were moved slowly backward and forward by the attendants,were conducive to rest and comfort. They were far enough removed from the lake to be entirely free from any suggestions which its busy scenes might make.
Near Enola stood the great white elephant, which she rode on all journeys, its huge body towering into the air and nearly touching the lower boughs of the trees. This elephant had become so attached to Enola that it seemed happy only when with her, and she had requested of Onrai that he allow “Gip,” as she had named it, to come into the garden while they were there. He had now taken hold of the rope with his trunk and was swinging the chair as carefully as could be done by the attendants. Occasionally he would let out that peculiar cry so much like an infant’s, when Enola would hand him one of the sweets which she always had about her when he was near.
Several of the zebras were also grazing in the garden and the deer, which were numerous, would come up now and then, and with their great liquid eyes, gaze into the faces of our friends. There was no timidity in these animals, for they were all treated so kindly, and had so long been made pets of, that all fear of the human form had left them.
The lofty trees, the flower-bedecked garden with the animals wandering through it, the perfumed air, the pink onyx villa in the background, the silk-robed party swinging lazily to and fro, the attendants standing near, and above all, the glorious moon, made an enchanting scene. Suddenly, as if in a dream, too faint almost to be heard, was wafted on the evening breeze a strain as sweet and indistinct as the low melody ofan Æolian harp. Onrai half rose and as the music grew stronger he became erect, and bowing his head, almost whispered, “’Tis the night of prayer.”
The attendants discontinued the swinging of the chairs and also bowed their heads. Our friends, half aroused from the sweet languor into which they had fallen, looked with wondering eyes at Onrai. The exquisite music was coming nearer and nearer, and now could be discerned harmonious voices mingling with the strains of the harp. On and on they came, the music growing louder and stronger, but losing none of its sweetness. Onrai and the attendants still stood with bowed heads, and in a subdued voice, Onrai was evidently repeating a prayer. So impressive was the beautiful music and the devout attitude of those about them, our friends were deeply moved, and had now also arisen and were standing with bent heads and clasped hands, breathing a prayer.
Now those who were making such sweet music had reached the villa, and our friends raising their eyes, looked upon a picture. Standing in the foreground, with his arm thrown over the neck of the zebra, from which he had dismounted, and holding in one hand a shepherd’s hook, was a white-robed priest. Grouped in a semicircle about him, were a number of maidens all carrying tiny torches. Back of them was a body of men, and still further in the background were the elephants and zebras which had brought the party from the city.
As they stood there, Onrai approached and spoke to the priest in the native tongue. Then, with the King leading, they went direct to the villa and entered.
“How strange,” said Enola, when Onrai with his visitors had left them alone.
“Strange indeed,” said Mr. Graham. “Can it be that they bring unexpected news from the city?”
“It is hard to tell,” said Mr. Bruce. “But I think not. It is evidently a celebration of one of their religious rites. From the solemn proceedings I should say that this was so.”
Just then Onrai was seen approaching them and when he was directly opposite, he said:
“’Tis the night of prayer, come;” and turning, he retraced his steps with our friends following.
They were led through the wide hall to a spacious apartment in the rear. This apartment was the exact counterpart of the large devotional chamber in the Temple, but somewhat smaller. Subdued lights were placed at frequent intervals about the sides of the apartment, and others hung from the lofty ceiling. In the centre was a wide, crescent-shaped platform, and standing about its base were those who had so recently come from the city.
As the King entered with our party the natives commenced playing on their native harps, and the low, sweet music penetrated to the very souls of our friends. Onrai led them to the platform on which seats had been placed; then the priest also mounted the platform, and facing the King, commenced reading in the native tongue from one of the polished tablets of wood. He then passed this to the King and he, arising, read from it the same inscription. Then the priest raised his hand, and all joined in a chant, the maidens accompanying the voices on the harps. It was solemn but grand and very impressive. The chant ended, thepriest again turned toward the King and began speaking, the maidens in the meanwhile playing a sweet refrain on the harps. The priest having finished speaking, the King arose, turned his face heavenward and prayed:
“God our Father, God of the Heavens and earth, God of On, God of all, as the flowers turn their faces to the great orb of day, so we on this night of prayer, turn our faces to Thee. O God, we know that all blessings come from Thee and we thank Thee. We thank Thee for the fertile fields, the green pastures, the silvery waters, the shady forest, the life-giving sun of day, the soft-lighted moon and cool breezes of the night. We feel Thy presence O God, we know that Thou art near us. Still be with us and when our time has come take us home to Thee, our God, our Father.”
Onrai ceased praying and the sweet voices and the music of the harps again broke forth. Now the voices grew fainter, the music more subdued, the lights growing dimmer and dimmer. Now the voices were almost whispering, the strains of music are dying, dying, the lights are flickering. At last all is hushed and dark. Suddenly the Temple was flooded with brilliant light, a glorious grand flood of song and music burst forth. More brilliant becomes the light, louder and grander grows the music, as if from a thousand voices, as if from a thousand harps. Now comes a troop of maidens robed in shimmering white, singing and playing. Lightly they trip over the polished floor, their forms swaying and their limbs bending gracefully as they dance.
Our friends hold their breath for fear of losing one strain of the sweet music; they lean forward eagerlyto catch every movement of the willowy figures. All is grand beyond conception. The music becomes more soul-stirring, the dance grows quicker, the lights blinding in their brilliancy. Our friends arise in their eagerness to see and hear. ’Tis glorious!
Suddenly the maidens leave the room, the song and music cease, the lights are darkened. ’Tis over.
The night of prayer with its grand and imposing ceremonies had passed, and now the party had again assembled and were partaking of the morning meal preparatory to starting on the day’s journey. It was yet very early, for in this equatorial climate the journeys had to be taken in the cool of the mornings and evenings. The sun’s rays in the middle of the day were too hot to withstand. Through the open door could be seen the elephants and zebras trapped and waiting for the start. Nearby stood, not only the attendants, but also the party which had arrived the night before. Turning to Onrai, Enola asked:
“Are those who came from the city also to accompany us, Onrai?”
“Yes,” answered Onrai, “it is essential that they should go with us, for we shall not have returned to the city before the night of prayer shall have again come, and on this night we must have a priest and attendants.”