Far to Seek Part 47

And, in justice to Dyan Singh, it should be added that there was more than Aruna in his mind. There was India--increasingly at the mercy of Chandranath and his kind. The very blindness of his earlier obsession had intensified the effect of his awakening. Roy's devoted daring, his grandfather's mellow wisdom, had worked in his fiery soul more profoundly than they knew: and his act of revenge was also, in his eyes, an act of expiation. At the bidding of Chandranath, or another, he would unhesitatingly have flung a bomb at the Commissioner of Delhi--the sane, strong man whose words and bearing had so impressed him on the few occasions they had met at the Residency. By what law of G.o.d or man, then, should he hesitate to grind the head of this snake under his heel?

One-handed though he was, he would not strike from behind. The son of a jackal should know who struck him. He should taste fear, before he tasted death. And then--the Lake, that would never give up its secret or its dead. Siri Chandranath would disappear from his world, like a stone flung into a river; and India would be a cleaner place without him.

He knew himself hampered, if it came to a struggle. But--tcha! the man was a coward. Let the G.o.ds but deliver his victim into that one purposeful hand of his--and the end was sure.

Near the Palace, he deserted Bijli, Son of Lightning; tethered him securely and spoke a few words in his ear, while the devoted creature nuzzled against him, as who should say, 'What need of speech between me and thee'? Then--following Roy's directions--he made his way cautiously up the hillside, where the arch showed clear in the moon. If Chandranath had been injured or stupefied, he would probably not have gone far.

His surmise proved correct. His stealthy approach well-timed. The guardian G.o.ds of Amber, it seemed, were on his side. For there, on the fallen slab, crouched a shadow, bowed forward; its head in its hands.

"Must have been stunned," he thought. Patently the G.o.ds were with him.

Had he been an Englishman, the man's hurt would probably have baulked him of his purpose. But Dyan Singh, Rajput, was not hampered by the sportman's code of morals. He was frankly out to kill. His brain worked swiftly, instinctively: and swift action followed....

Out of the sheltering shadow he leapt, as the cheetah leaps on its prey: the long knife gripped securely in his teeth. Before Chandranath came to his senses, the steel-spring grasp was on his throat, stifling the yell of terror at Roy's supposed return....

The tussle was short and silent. Within three minutes Dyan had his man down; arms and body pinioned between his powerful knees, that his one available hand might be free to strike. Then, in a low fierce rush, he spoke: "Yes--it is I--Dyan Singh. You told me often--strike, for the Mother. 'Who kills the body kills naught.' I strike for the Mother _now_."

Once--twice--the knife struck deep; and the writhing thing between his knees was still.

He did not altogether relish the weird journey down to the sh.o.r.e of the Lake; or the too close proximity of the limp burden slung over his shoulder. But his imagination did not run riot, like Roy's: and no qualms of conscience perturbed his soul. He had avenged, tenfold, Aruna's injury. He had expiated, in drastic fas.h.i.+on, his own aberration from sanity. It was enough.

The soft 'plop' and splash of the falling body, well weighted with stones, was music to his ear. Beyond that musical murmur, the Lake would utter no sound....

CHAPTER XVI.

"So let him journey through his earthly day: 'Mid hustling spirits go his self-found way; Find torture, bliss, in every forward stride-- He, every moment, still unsatisfied."

--FAUST.

Next morning, very early, he was closeted with Roy, sitting on the edge of his bed; cautiously, circ.u.mstantially, telling him all. Roy, as he listened, was half repelled, half impressed by the sheer impetus of the thing; and again he felt--as once or twice in Delhi--what centuries apart they were, though related, and almost of an age.

"This will be only between you and me, Roy--for always," Dyan concluded gravely. "Not because I have any shame for killing that snake; but--as I said ... because of Aruna----"

"Trust me," said Roy. "Amber Lake and I don't blab. There'll be a nine days' mystery over his disappearance. Then his lot will set up some other tin G.o.d--and promptly forget all about him."

"Let us follow their example, in that at least!" Grim humour nickered in Dyan's eyes, as he extracted a cigarette from the proffered case. "You gave me my chance. I have taken it--like a Rajput. Now we have other things to do."

Roy smiled. "That's about the size of it--from your sane, barbaric standpoint! I'm fairly besieged with other things to do. As soon as this blooming ankle allows me to hobble, I'm keen to get at some of the thoughtful elements in Calcutta and Bombay; educated Indian men and women, who honestly believe that India is moving towards a national unity that will transcend all antagonism of race and creed. I can't see it myself; but I've an open mind. Then, I think, Udaipur--'last, loneliest, loveliest, apart'--to knock my novel into shape before I go North. And _you_----?" He pensively took stock of his volcanic cousin.

"Sure you're safe not to erupt again?"

"Safe as houses--thanks to you. That doesn't mean I can be orthodox Hindu and work for the orthodox Jaipur Raj. I would like to join 'Servants of India' Society; and work for the Mother among those who accept British connection as India's G.o.d-given destiny. In no other way will I work again--to 'make her a widow.' Also, I thought perhaps----"

he hesitated, averting his eyes--"to take vows of celibacy----"

"_Dyan_!" Roy could not repress his astonishment. He had almost forgotten that side of things. Right or wrong--a tribute to Tara indeed!

It jerked him uncomfortably; almost annoyed him.

"Unfair on Grandfather," he said with decision. "For every reason, you ought to marry--an enlightened wife. Think--of Aruna."

"I _do_ think of her. It is _she_ who ought to marry."

The emphasis was not lost on Roy:--and it hurt. Last night's poignant scene was intimately with him still. "I'm afraid you won't persuade her to," he said in a contained voice.

"I am quite aware of _that_. And the reason--even a blind man could not fail to see."

They looked straight at one another for a long moment. Roy did not swerve from the implied accusation.

"Well, it's no fault of mine, Dyan," he said, recalling Aruna's confession that tacitly freed him from blame. "_She_ understands--there's a bigger thing between us than our mere selves.

Whatever I'm free to do for her, I'll gladly do--always. It was chiefly to ease her poor heart that I risked the Delhi adventure. I felt I had lost the link with _you_."

"Not surprising." Dyan smoked for a few minutes in silence. He was clearly moved by the fine frankness of Roy's att.i.tude. "All the same,"

he said at last, "it was not quite broken. You have given me new life; and because you did it--for her, I swear to you, as long as she needs me, I will not fail her." He held out his hand. Roy's closed on it hard.

"Later in the morning I will come back and see her," Dyan added, in a changed voice--and went out.

Later in the morning, Roy himself was allowed to see her. With the help of his stick he limped to her verandah balcony, where she lay in a long chair, with cus.h.i.+ons and rugs, the poor arm in a sling. Thea was with her. She had heard as much of last night's doings as any one would ever know. So she felt justified in letting the poor dears have half an hour together.

Her withdrawal was tactfully achieved; but there followed an awkward silence. For the s.p.a.ce of several minutes it seemed that neither of the 'poor dears' knew quite what to make of their privilege, though they were appreciating it from their hearts.

Roy found himself too persistently aware of the arm that had been broken to save him; of the new bond between them, signed and sealed by that one unforgettable kiss.

As for Aruna--while pain anch.o.r.ed her body to earth, her unstable heart swayed disconcertingly from heights of rarefied content, to depths of shyness. Things she had said and done, on that far-away hillside, seemed unbelievable, remembered in her familiar balcony with a daylight mind: and fear lest he might be 'thinking it that way too' increased shyness tenfold. Yet it was she who spoke first, after all.

"Oh, it makes me angry ... to see you--like that," she said, indicating his ankle with a faint movement of her hand.

Roy quietly took possession of the hand and pressed it to his lips.

"How do you suppose _I_ feel, seeing _you_ like that!" Words and act dispelled her foolish fears. "Did you sleep? Does it hurt much?"

"Only if I forget and try to move. But what matter? Every time it hurts, I feel proud because that feeble arm was able to push you out of the way."

"You've every right to feel proud. You nearly knocked me over!"

A mischievous smile crept into her eyes. "I am afraid ... I was very rude!"

"That's _one_ way of putting it!" His grave tenderness warmed her like suns.h.i.+ne. He leaned nearer; his hand grasped the arm of her long chair.

"You were a very wonderful Aruna last night. And--you are going to be more wonderful still. Working with Dyan, you are going to help make my dream come true--of India finding herself again by her own genius, along her own lines----"

He had struck the right note. Her face lit up as he had hoped to see it.

"Oh, Roy--can I really----? Will Dyan help? Will he _let_ me----"

"Of course he will. And I'll be helping too--in my own fas.h.i.+on. We'll never lose touch, Aruna; though India's your destiny and England's mine.

Never say again you have no true country. Like me, you have two countries--one very dear; one supreme. I'm afraid there are terrible days coming out here. And in those days every one of you who honestly loves England--every one of _us_ who honestly loves India--will count in the scale ..."

He paused; and she drew a deep breath. "Oh--how you _see_ things! It is you who are wonderful, Roy. I can think and feel the big things in my heart. But for doing them--I am, after all, only a woman...."