Atma - A Romance

As Atma drew near to the confines of Kashmir he trod a secluded vale,

and followed the windings of a broad stream whose banks were thickly

wooded. As he pursued his way through a thicket he heard voices in gay

converse, and stayed his steps until, peering through the heavy foliage,

he descried below the overhanging river-bank two dark-eyed girls. They

were seated on a broad stone, and one laved her feet in the water and

bent over the swift current; but the head of the other, wreathed in

scarlet blossoms, was uplifted, and in the bright face half turned

towards him he recognized an attendant of Moti. She listened as if

suspecting his approach, but soon apparently satisfied, she resumed her

light chatter with her companion. Atma heard his own name, and gathered

that they sought him. He made himself known, and the elder, who was

Nama, the Maharanee's trusted servant, related how her mistress greatly

desiring a sprig of White Ak, a tree of great virtue in incantations,

had commissioned her to obtain it in the forest near by. She had also

been charged, she said, to meet Atma Singh, and bring her illustrious

mistress tidings of his welfare.

Although, as a true Sikh, Atma worshipped an Idea, and held in scorn all

material semblance of the supernatural, he knew that magic was largely

practised by professed adherents of the Khalsa, and so heard her errand

without surprise, though guessing that its timely performance had in

view some other purpose concerning himself. This became certain when

Nana made known to him that she was not then to return home, but to

linger here and in the neighbourhood of the Sacred Well, spoken of by

the Ranee, for an indefinite time, while the girl beside her at once

returning, would bear to Ferazpore as well as to the house of his uncle

tidings of his present safety. As Nama spoke, Atma fancied once that the

little maid standing by sought to engage his attention by a mute sign,

but, ere he could be sure, she desisted and became engrossed in the

adjustment of the crown of scarlet flowers with which she had bedecked

her head. A dim suspicion of treachery rose in his breast, a vague

misgiving. He rapidly recalled to mind the affectionate language of his

kinsman, the promises of the Ranee, and perhaps stronger than all rose

the dear vanity of royal youth, which cannot believe itself scorned.

Were not all the high hopes of his life at stake? It is not possible

that when youth hazards all, the venture should fail. But the foreboding

remained. It was akin to the shudder which tells us that some one steps

on the sod beneath which we are to lie. The analysis of these subtle

melancholies is hard to read. A breath may summon them and they linger

unbidden, and whether they point only to the dim shadows they invoke

from the past, or whether their warning be of the future, we cannot say.

Even as I write a sadness oppresses me, born of I know not what.