Thus fate took Allaha by the hair again and shook her out of the
pastoral quiet. What would happen now?
This!
On the morning after the tragic death of the old king, those who went
early to worship, to propitiate the gods to deal kindly with them
during the day, were astounded to find the doors and gates of all the
temples closed! Nor was any priest visible in his usual haunts. The
people were stunned. For there could be but one interpretation to this
act on the part of the gurus: the gods had denied the people. Why?
Wherefore? Twenty-four hours passed without their learning the cause;
the priests desired to fill them with terror before they struck.
Then came the distribution of pamphlets wherein it was decreed that the
populace, the soldiery, all Allaha in fact, must bow to the will of the
gods or go henceforth accursed. The gods demanded the reinstatement as
regent of Durga Ram; the deposing of Ramabai, the infidel; the fealty
of the troops to Durga Ram. Twenty-four hours were given the people to
make their choice.
Before the doors of all the temples the people gathered, wailing and
pouring dust upon their heads, from Brahmin to pariah, from high caste
matrons to light dancing girls. And when the troops, company by
company, began to kneel at the outer rim of these gatherings, Ramabai
despatched a note to Colonel Hare, warning him to fly at once. But the
messenger tore up the note and flew to his favorite temple.
Superstition thus won what honor, truth and generosity could not hold.
Strange, how we Occidentals have stolen out from under the shadow of
anathema. Curse us, and we smile and shrug our shoulders; for a curse
is but the mouthing of an angry man. But to these brown and yellow and
black people, from the steps of Lhassa to the tangled jungles of
mid-Africa, the curse of fake gods is effective. They are really a
kindly people, generous, and often loyal unto death, simple and patient
and hard-working; but let a priest raise his hand in anathema and at
once they become mad, cruel and remorseless as the tiger.
Allaha surrendered; and Umballa came forth. All this happened so
quickly that not even a rumor of it reached the colonel's bungalow till
it was too late. They were to have left on the morrow. The king dead,
only a few minor technicalities stood an the way of Ramabai and Pundita.
Bruce and Kathlyn were fencing one with the other, after the manner of
lovers, when Winnie, her eyes wide with fright, burst in upon them with
the news that Umballa, at the head of many soldiers, was approaching.
The lovers rushed to the front of the bungalow in time to witness the
colonel trying to prevent the intrusion of a priest.