CHAPTER IVTHE ASRA RUBY
It was some time past midnight when Fidá, baffled and exhausted, returned to his antechamber, and, wrapping himself in his white cloak, lay down on the floor. Weary as he was, he could not sleep at once, but lay for a little while thinking profitlessly on what he had done. Fate had twice given him that which he had not sought. But now, trying to circumvent Fate, he had been doubly defeated; for, had he been where he should that evening, Ahalya, in her reckless search, must have come upon him. This, happily, he did not know; but he was none the less unrighteously angry at his failure to find out something, even the smallest, of her habits.Herhabits! Reason, which he had persistently smothered, rose up against him, and began to lay before him certain grim truths. This woman, of whom his nearly every waking thought was now composed, was a Ranee—a queen, a wife. To her he was an outcast, and yet he had dared to lift his thoughts to her. Fool that he was, he had got himself into a state men called love! What love could be more unholy than his? She was a Ranee. But, argued his other self, he was himself a prince by birth,and the actual head of a great race. Nevertheless, this race of his was a strangely unhappy one; and he, Fidá, had, all his life till now, persistently avoided women; for to his family women were fatal. He had taken the highest pride in his reputation for coldness, for chastity, for temperance. At sixteen he had left Yemen to put himself under the guardianship of his uncle,—a power at the court of Delhi; and, upon his departure for India, he had vowed lifelong devotion to the extension of the Prophet’s power; and had determined to allow no human temptation to conquer him. This present matter, however, he protested, was no temptation. It was even most unlikely that he should see the woman again, considering the difference in their present stations. Nevertheless, after a little more chaotic thinking, Fidá took from a certain secure hiding-place in his vestment a tiny golden box, scarcely half an inch square, fastened by a minute spring. Without opening it, he clasped this box closely to his breast; and, as if it held some magic power, under its pressure he grew calm again, his brain ceased to throb, sleep stole upon him, and little by little his hold on it relaxed, till at last his hand fell from his breast and his treasure rolled upon the floor.
Fidá’s awakening was sudden. The tones of a loud voice, calling confusedly, mingled themselves with his dreams. Then he sprang to his feet to find the Rajah standing over him, in a most dishevelled state, crying to him to bring drinking-water, instantly. And Fidá, startled and sleepy, hurried away on his errand.
When he returned with the desired drink, he found his master in his bedroom, surrounded by half a dozen attendants, each ministering to him in some way. Way was made with alacrity for the cup-bearer, however; for Rai-Khizar greeted the appearance of water with a positive roar of eagerness. After three brimming gobletfuls had been quaffed without pause, the Rajah gave a great sigh and sank back on his cushions. “By the fingers of Ushas,” said he, “that is the best liquor ever brought me! Fidá, thou abstainer, where learned thy people their wisdom?—Now I bathe. Let a meal be ready when I return, and summon Lord Ragunáth to eat with me. Sacharman, go rouse him. Thou, Asra, say thy prayers, and then come and wait at my table. Away! Out of my sight!”
There was a general scurrying, in the midst of which Rai-Khizar, restored to tranquillity, walked away to his bath, leaving the room free for other slaves to prepare in it the morning meal. In half an hour, when the King reappeared, all was in readiness, and Fidá stood alone behind his master’s seat. The Rajah seated himself at once; but, not greatly disposed toward food, sat waiting for Ragunáth before beginning his meal. The official did not long delay, though he made his appearance in no way hurriedly. He was carefully dressed, fresh-colored and smiling; and in his hand he carried a tiny, golden box. Fidá perceived it at once, and his heart throbbed with anxiety, but he did not speak. Greetings passed between Rajah and minister, and then Ragunáth took his place opposite Rai-Khizar,and laid Fidá’s box on the low brass table in front of him.
“This was upon the floor in the second antechamber,” he observed.
The Rajah took it up and examined it, Fidá still silently watching. For a moment Rai-Khizar seemed to consider. Then, suddenly turning to his slave, he exclaimed: “’Tis thine, Asra! I remember they found it on thee in my tent in the plain of Dhár, and returned it to thee again, it being a charm of thy god.”
“Yes, it is mine, O King.”
Rai-Khizar-Pál examined it further, with curiosity. “Doth the box open? What is its power?” he asked.
“It contains a charm, great Rajah, the charm of my race.”
“Show us this charm,” demanded the master, handing the box to his slave.
Fidá’s hand closed upon it with visible eagerness; but he was very loath to open it. However, there was no choice. Touching the delicate spring, that was almost undiscoverable, the golden lid flew open, and Fidá turned the box upward on his palm. When he lifted it, there lay in his hand a stone, red and brilliant: a ruby, as magnificent a gem as the Rajah had ever looked on. It was cut and polished, and from its prismatic sides shone an inward fire of palest crimson. This stone Fidá placed in the Rajah’s hand, who received it with an exclamation of wonder.
“Whoorroo! There is not, in all Mandu, a gem so wonderful! Thy family, Asra, must be powerfulindeed! Come, as the price of keeping thy treasure, relate to us its merits as a charm, and how it came to be thine.”
Fidá was deeply troubled. He gazed at Ragunáth, who, forgetting himself, was leaning over the tray, his eyes fixed—was it hungrily?—upon that gleaming stone. There was an eagerness in the clear-cut face that was too easy to read; and as he watched, Fidá saw the man’s hands fairly tremble for the gem. Rai-Khizar-Pál was wholly different. His face, as he examined the stone, expressed pleasure; but there was not a hint of avarice in his large, quiet eyes. After three or four minutes of hesitation and inward struggle on the part of Fidá, the King exclaimed:
“Thy tale, Fidá! Or wouldst really lose the jewel to me?”
“The jewel,” cut in Ragunáth, in a smooth, quiet voice, “belongs by right of war to the Rajah. No slave should possess such a fortune as this.”
“Ah, good counsellor, there thou’rt wrong. This Mohammedan is not a Sudra. Moreover, he does not carry the ruby as riches, but for a reason that we wait to hear. Come, Fidá, speak!”
The King laid the ruby on the tray before him, and began to eat, slowly. At the same time Fidá, overpressed, entered upon his tale; and during the whole of the recital his eyes never once rested on the jewel, but were fixed unwinkingly on Ragunáth’s æsthetic profile.
“O conqueror, the story of this jewel that youbid me tell is stranger than you think. ’Tis such a story as is scarcely to be found outside of fairy lore. And yet I stand here to prove that it is true.
“Know that my race, the Asra, are an ancient and powerful family, that have dwelt for many centuries in Yemen, the holy land. We are of high descent, and among us, at the time of the Hejira, was a follower of Mohammad, afterward one of the writers of the Koran, a venerable and a holy man, accounted a sage: by name, Hussen el-Asra. At the same time there lived in Mecca the high and holy Osman, compiler of the Koran, worshipped throughout the city as a saint. Now Hussen had a son, a young man of great beauty of face and form, and of highly virtuous mind, called Abdullah. One day this young man, by an unhappy accident, chanced to see a maiden, the daughter of a wealthy nobleman of Mecca, Said ibn-Alnas; and in the first sight of her he loved the maiden, and, going to her father, asked her hand in marriage. Said received Abdullah in the most courteous manner, but was distressed by the object of his visit, in that his daughter had already a suitor in old Osman, who, though four times married to virtuous women, had become so enamored of the beautiful Zenora that he purposed divorcing himself of one of his wives in order to marry her. Abdullah, however, was unmarried; and the venerable Said preferred to make his child the first wife of an honorable man, to bringing dishonor on the head of another woman by marrying her to Osman. Zenora, likewise, when the matterwas laid before her, as is our custom with our women, begged earnestly to become the wife of the younger man, whom she already loved. Thereupon, before Osman was made aware of the matter, Zenora and Abdullah were safely married, and she had taken up her abode in the house of her husband and her husband’s father.
“When news of this wedding was brought to the saint Osman, he fell into a violent rage of despair. Praying to the Prophet for vengeance, the Prophet listened to his prayer, and put into his mouth a curse. And so Osman went into the market-place and waited; and when Abdullah came thither, Osman went up to him and cursed him and his love, and the loves of his children and his children’s children, that whosoever of his race should truly love a woman should die of it, having by her no more than one son. And though an Asra should, in his heart, cherish love for a woman and not marry her, the curse should yet be upon him, till in a short time their whole race should perish from the face of the earth.”
“It was an unholy curse,” observed the Rajah, deeply interested. And Fidá rejoined:
“So thought all that heard it; and no man looked for it to come to pass. Yet it happened that Abdullah and Zenora had not been wedded a month when the husband sickened. Though he grew constantly worse, he but clung the more to his wife, and she to him, until it seemed that he must surely die. Then, in her bitterness and grief, Zenora called upon her father andher husband’s father for aid; and the nobleman and the learned and holy one took counsel together, and prayed to Allah and the Archangels. And their prayer was answered. A voice from heaven addressed them, bidding Said bring forth the richest treasure of his house, and then Hussen to bless it and then take it to Abdullah for a charm against the evil of the curse; and, while he carried it, it would give him health and bring him children. So Said went and got this ruby, which was renowned throughout Yemen for its size and perfection. And Hussen, performing his part of the task, blessed the gem and consecrated it to Allah, and took it to his son, who by it was miraculously restored to health. Abdullah and Zenora lived happily, and had many daughters, but only one son, to whom the ruby was given at his father’s death, with the word that it should descend in time to his first-born, and so on down. In time it was found that only those children born of deep and lasting love were subject to the curse; but upon these, since the time of Abdullah and Osman, the evil has never failed to take effect when the ruby is not worn as a protective charm. It was my father’s, and given me by him according to the custom; wherefore my uncle, though he married and has a son, has devoted his life to pursuits of war and hunting, knowing that the gentler pleasures of life are not for him.”
“And hast thou never put thy stone to the test? Hast never loved?” inquired Ragunáth, with a faintly curling smile.
“No,” answered Fidá, shortly. But the Rajah broke in:
“By Surya, ’tis a tale worth the price of the gem! Take it, Asra; and I think it were well for thee to keep it idle while thou remainest in this palace.”
Fidá gave a little, imperceptible start, and stared quickly into his conqueror’s face. There was nothing to be read in it; and surely it was impossible that the words could have had any under-meaning. Greatly relieved at receiving back his treasure, the Asra replaced it in its box, which he fastened again in his garment. As he did this he was aware that Ragunáth’s eyes were still upon him; but Ragunáth’s glances had annoyed him so often, that he failed especially to note this. He had recovered his jewel; and now the meal was coming to an end and for an hour he would be released from duty.
When he was again summoned to the Rajah’s side, it was in the great audience hall, where Rai-Khizar-Pál officiated in his judicial state. The Mohammedan was not a little interested in the proceedings of the long morning; and his respect for the ability of his master increased not a little as he watched him settle, one after another, with ease, rapidity, and remarkable insight, the great number of quarrels and suits brought before him by his subjects. At the second hour after noon, however, the court rose, and those natives whose cases had not come up that day were told to return on the morrow; whereupon they got up, without comment, from where they had been sitting in rowsaround the wall, and departed to their various pursuits. The Rajah, accompanied by Manava, retired to eat his second meal, which Fidá served. When it was over, he stood waiting to be dismissed; for it was the time of day when Rai-Khizar usually slept and the slave was accustomed to enjoy a period of idleness. Left alone with the captive, however, the King turned to him, and, after a few moments’ consideration, said gravely:
“Asra, I have said that I would not ransom thee; liking too well thy presence and thy service. Yet this I have in my heart reconsidered until, though I shall grieve to let thee go, I am willing to send envoys to thy uncle to treat for thy ransom. Doth this rejoice thee?”
Fidá fell upon one knee and pressed the Rajah’s hand to his head. “Thanks to my lord!” said he, in a voice muffled with emotion.
“Ah, thou’lt be glad to be in thine own estate again! I send the envoys forth to-day. It should be not more than three weeks ere thy freedom cometh. On my life, I shall be loath to part with thee. But now I can keep thee no longer in this servant’s garb. Thou shalt be habited like a prince again, and wait here, my guest, till thou goest forth.”
“Let the King pardon my boldness. What is the ransom thou wouldst free me for?”
“Far less than thou art worth, my Asra: five thousand pieces of copper, jewels to the worth of an hundred cows, and the oath that the Rajah of Manduand the mighty Aybek of Delhi be henceforth as brothers.”
Fidá had risen to his feet; but he stood with his head so bent that the Rajah could not see his face. “I have a favor to ask my lord,” he said, still in the muffled tone that could not be interpreted.
“Speak.”
“Will the Rajah permit that, till the time of my freedom, I may remain as I am now:—the cup-bearer of my lord?”
“What! Art not a prince? Wouldst thou remain a slave?”
“I asked a favor of my lord.”
“Then it is granted, Asra. But, by the bolt of Indra, I understand thee not!” And, displeased with his captive’s request, he got up and strode out of the room. Fidá stood there alone, staring at the floor, with a curling, sorrowful smile on his lips, and a deep melancholy in his eyes. For Fidá knew his race well; and he was perfectly aware that, though an army of twenty thousand Mohammedans might storm the plateau of Mandu for the simple purpose of taking him out of captivity, yet they would never pay one-half of the ransom demanded; and, should they take the oath of brotherhood with an infidel, it would be for the purpose of plundering him at the first opportunity. Entertaining, then, from the first, no false hope of freedom, Fidá preferred remaining in his present state as personal servant of a king, to mutilation and degradation when the answer that his uncle would send should reach the earsof Rai-Khizar-Pál. Understanding all this, and having the courage to face it from the first, Fidá was none the less bitter at heart at the thought of it. And it was with dragging steps and a darkened face that he finally set off toward the house of slaves.
There, as he had hoped, he found Ahmed, unoccupied and awake. The brightness of the boy’s face at sight of his master roused Fidá a little from his mood, and his eyes had lost their sombreness when, side by side with his young companion, he left the chattering veranda, and walked in the direction of the great courtyard. As they went, they talked in their native tongue, and Ahmed, his boyish spirits always light, recounted all the gossip of under-life in the great palace which had not come to Fidá’s ears. The Mohammedan boy had made himself very popular even among the Indian slaves; and he, like all servants, was in possession of intimate details of the higher life that would have astonished and nonplussed certain august personages. His chatter was innocent enough, however. One of the slave-women in the zenana had had a quarrel with Bhimeg, the second wife, over a pet paroquet. Purán and Kanava had had a trial of strength in wrestling, and Kanava had come out victor. Two of the eunuchs of the zenana were just dead of a fever. And so on, infinitely, till Fidá had ceased to listen, and was occupied with his own thoughts, which had suddenly turned in another direction. After all, did he really wish to leave Mandu? Was there not something here that could not be taken away; something that was not tobe found in any other country of the earth? Dwelt not the fairest woman in the world here, in the place of his captivity? Did he really desire to leave her land even for princely honors? Nay. It might be impossible that he should see her again; yet always she was here, and here only, the lady of his secret heart.
The two companions, loitering through the great courtyard, finally entered the temple room of Vishnu, that began the south wing of the palace. A curious place, this temple, devoted to that species of half-formed Hindooism that was at this time the prevailing religion of India. Into this religion, as into a gigantic pie, had been thrown pell-mell the doctrines of ancient Vedic worship, the religion of the great Triad, the worst side of dying Buddhism, and the Philosophies, insulted by their anthropomorphitic company. This temple room was a fair specimen of the mingled faiths. On one side, decked and carved with the symbols of fifty other gods, the images of Vishnu and Lakshmi reclined upon a throne about which was entwined the great serpent Sesha, symbol of eternity, in whose coils was caught a golden lotus, from which Brahma and the demigods had, in the beginning, come forth. Over the head of Vishnu hung a wooden monkey, representing Hanuman, the friend of Vishnu; and three or four living members of the chattering tribe dwelt in the room. Around the three other walls were images of different gods, all comparatively insignificant, but each with his priest and a sect, however small, of worshippers. At any hour of the day, indeed, butespecially in the morning and in the evening, there were to be found from one to twenty worshippers seated on the floor before the various deities, engaged in performing an Agnihotra or an Ishti for prosperity and good fortune.
In the dusk of this holy place, lighted by its fires, Fidá and Ahmed continued their low-voiced talk, which had now turned upon the long-standing feud between Kasya, chief of the eunuchs, and Kanava, the slavemaster. Kanava was high in the favor of Ragunáth; but Kasya, heart and soul devoted to his Rajah, found little favor in Ragunáth’s eyes.
“Kanava,” Ahmed said, “is Ragunáth’s spy; and he can go anywhere in the palace except into the zenana. Kasya watches his eunuchs, so that Kanava has never been able to get in there; and I have heard one of the eunuchs say that he has tried to bribe every one of them to let him in. They say that Ragunáth is in love with one of the women—”
“What woman?” demanded Fidá, sharply.
“The youngest wife. They call her Ahalya.”
Fidá’s eyes blazed with anger. “Why is not the Rajah told of this?”
“Great Allah! Every one would be killed, I suppose,” returned the boy; and the subject was dropped.
In the midst of all this gossip Fidá had not told his companion anything of the chief event of the day:—the matter of his ransom. And, on reflection, he decided to say nothing about it. Ahmed’s young buoyancy could never be made to understand Fidá’s ownview of the incident; and he could do nothing but raise hopes that would not be fulfilled. So, after a while, each returned to his duties, insensibly lightened at heart by the taste of intimate and affectionate companionship.
Fidá lay down in his corner, that night, tired out. According to old habit he slipped his hand inside his tunic and made sure that his little box was in its place, in a pocket that he had made for it himself, after his other clothes had been taken from him. Finding his treasure safe, he offered up a prayer, wondered where his uncle slept that night, still more wondered whether the Lady Ahalya was asleep, and, with her name on his lips, drifted off into unconsciousness.
He was awakened by the sense that some one was bending over him. Next he felt the lightest touch upon his body. A hand was slipping along him so softly that only an acute sense could have felt it. Then Fidá opened his eyes. Ten brown, sinewy fingers were working at his sash. Quietly the Asra laid his own hands on those of the marauder, and, while the blood rushed to his heart, gripped them with the strength of a giant. The intruder gave a soft exclamation; and Fidá found himself looking into the eyes of Kanava.
The gaze continued till the slave-master was beaten. He turned his eyes away. Then Fidá’s lip curled, and he spoke, his voice soft with scorn.
“Go back, Kanava, and tell thy master that the Asra ruby is not for him.” And, with a violent gesture, heflung the man away from him as one would fling a bag of meal.
Without a word Kanava got up and crept out of the room. After he was gone again Fidá relaxed, and, curiously enough, found no difficulty in going back to sleep. Nor did he afterward waste much time in thinking of the mortal enemy he had made by that night’s work.