Atma - A Romance

Rajah Lal Singh arrived at Jummoo a few weeks later in much pomp and

state. No hidden or hazardous mission was his. His gorgeous train of

armed attendants mounted on richly caparisoned horses traversed the

public roads, winding like a brilliant serpent through the vales of

Kashmir. He brought tidings of the daily increasing quiet and peace now

resting on the torn and war-spent Punjaub. Festivities were heightened

after his arrival, and revelry held sway day and night.

Atma and Bertram in unconscious kinship drew to one another, forsaking

frequently the mirth and glare of the court to converse of things that

are hard to understand. They were one evening in a shady retreat at the

foot of the Rajah's terraced gardens.

"I confess," said Atma, "that the fixedness of fate engages my thought

frequently, though hitherto unprofitably. No doubt the teachers of your

land have spoken and written much on a subject so perplexing."

"They have," replied Bertram; "it has ever been a favourite whetstone

for the human reason. It has been frequently solved to the satisfaction

of the performer, but no solution has yet won the universal acceptance

that is the badge of truth."

"It may be," said Atma, "that the answer lies not anywhere beneath our

sky."

A rustle in the foliage behind them drew the attention of both. A gleam

of vivid colour was visible when they quickly turned, and Atma was in

the act of parting the myrtle boughs, when, anticipating him, Lal Singh

stepped forth from retreat. Silken attire and splendour of jewelled

turban were insufficient to dignify his crestfallen demeanour, which,

however, changed rapidly when he darted a glance of rage and hate at

Bertram, who had greeted his sudden appearance with a scornful laugh.

"No doubt," he said, "the English Sahib and Atma Singh have grave

secrets whose discussion calls for deep retirement."

"No doubt of it," laughed Bertram, "but, Rajah Lal, the yellow vestments

of a noble Sikh," for the Rajah wore his state dress, "are so ill

fitted for ambuscade that I promptly refuse to admit you to our

councils."

What answer the Rajah, whose stealthy face grew livid at this sally,

might have made, was stopped by Atma, who, well aware of the danger to

his companion from such an enemy, and all unknowing of his own place in

the Rajah's esteem, interposed with courteous speech.

"We are on our way," said he, "to the Moslem burial-place near by, the

tombs of which have become interesting through the tales of Nawab Khan.

Bertram Sahib jests, we will be gratified by Rajah Lal Singh joining

us."