The Master of Aberfeldie, Volume 1 (of 3)Grant, James
General
The Master of Aberfeldie, Volume 1 (of 3)
Grant, James
Fiction
'You may know by this time that I hate all flattery,' said she,
blushing hotly at what she had brought upon herself by a blunt
reference to a hitherto ignored subject--their mutual relation to
each other.
'I have here a gift I brought you from India,' observed Allan,
timidly, as he unlocked his desk and thought of the Maltese
ornaments, but did not dare refer to them as yet.
'A gift?' said she, coldly, with face half averted.
'A little silver idol of Siva, beautifully carved and chased--will
you accept of it?'
'Thanks--with pleasure,' said she, trembling lest it had been a ring.
'How curious, and yet how grotesquely hideous it is!' she added,
turning it round, and then balancing it in the white palm of a slim
and delicate hand.
'And rather a curious story attends it--if you care to hear.'
'Please to tell me,' said she, her curiosity roused. 'Why, the funny
thing has ever so many heads, and a dozen of arms at least!'
'We were in cantonments at Hurdwur, in Delhi,' said Allan, glad to
secure her attention even for a few minutes, 'when a subadar-major of
the 10th Native Infantry, a disciple of Siva, wishing to sacrifice to
his little idol, placed it by the bank of the river there, which is
one of the greatest places for Hindoo purification, and the resort of
thousands of pilgrims from every part of Hindostan. While he turned
aside to get the ghee with which to anoint it, some person adroitly
carried it off. After searching for it in vain, with consternation
in his soul, the unfortunate subadar-major went to the priest of the
nearest temple, and, with tears in his eyes, related his loss.
'"Dog!" exclaimed the priest, "you have lost your god, and must
prepare to die, for death alone can soothe the wrath of Siva."
'"If die I must," replied the wretched subadar-major, with clasped
hands and trembling knees, though a brave man, as the medals on his
breast proved, "it shall be by drowning in the holy river; so come
with me to the edge thereof, and give me your blessing."
'The priest consented, and followed him to the Ganges, into which he
went deliberately.
'"Be courageous, my son--die with joy, and perfect happiness awaits
you," exclaimed the priest.
'"My dear master," said the subadar, "before I perish, lend me _your_
god that I may adore it--the water is already up to my neck."
'The priest consented, and handed his idol to the subadar-major, who,
as if by accident, let it drop in the deep water.
'"Ah! master," he exclaimed, as if in horror and dismay, "what a new
misfortune! Your god is also lost, and so we must die together--for
you must drown, too, and go with me to the throne of Siva!"
'And, approaching the priest, he strove to grasp the hand of the
latter, who stood pale and trembling on the lowest step of the ghaut
or landing-place.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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