Mohammed's Tooth/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI
“Allah is my friend.”
NEVERTHELESS, I took her pistol, sahibs. Excellence in women is a thing of dangerous uncertainty, like the temper of bazaar-bought knives. Nay, she did not fight me for it. Nay, she did not see me take it. She had thrust it in her pocket. Lo, see what a pretty toy it is. One of these nights I will use it on the husband of the woman at Iskanderan, inshallah! Has the sahib ammunition that will fit? Such stuff is hard to come by in the Hills.
“Allah! But the sahibs are impatient. I was coming to that part when your honors interrupted. Lo. She remembered me perfectly. It might have been that she had rescued me, and not I her! She began giving orders at once, and to ask more questions than a man with a book in his hand could have answered in a night, so that I knowing little English, was at my wits' end how to answer. Nevertheless, when a man is at his wits' end, Allah still provides. There came a thought to me.
“I recalled how I had left my bundle in a dark place near the corner where the track forks, lest the women who follow those Waziris—whom may Allah curse!—should find it while I might be busy with some other matter. Those hags would steal a hair from a jackal's tail! Moreover, it was well I did so, for I had enough to carry that I had lifted from the Waziri's packs in the sangar. And now I had the sahiba to manage also.
“I remembered your honor's purpose in freeing my wrists at the time when we swore friendship. Had I not risked more than life—aye, honor!—to bring the clothing of a shaveling for the sahiba's use? Who am I, that I should risk so much in vain? Lo, I would clothe her, that she might be safe! I would bind the uleema's turban on her head, that none might lift hand against her! Hah! I remembered then that she is your honor's wife, and I praised Allah for the opportunity to prove true fealty! I bade her come with me.
“And lo, she would not come! Of such stuff are women made—may Allah rot them all, saving ever your honor's privileges! By the Forty Martyrs and the Prophet himself, I was enraged! There was shooting in all directions. An accident might happen any moment. The Waziri hags might come-your honor might be dead—in Allah's name, a hundred things! Yet I bit the anger as it surged, and swallowed it again, like a man who has overeaten. And I lied to her—I, who have lied to no man–I, who love truth as an eagle loves the air. But a woman is a woman. I said your honor was down the track a little way, and had sent myself to bring her thither.
“Whereat, when I had told the lie a second and a third time, and she understood, she came with me. The wind blew mist across the sangar, veiling the moon light, and she helped me carry the trifles I had lifted from Waziri packs. Together we fled across the sangar, and over the wall, and down along the track between the cliff and the ravine, both breathing hard, for we were loaded, and what with one thing and another making more noise than was wise. It was in my mind to hide away the trifles I had taken, and to clothe her in the shaveling's garments from the other bundle; then to return and to find your honor, thus accomplishing all purposes in one. I strode ahead, she following as close behind me as the nature of her burden permitted. It was heavy.
“So. As Allah is my witness, I heard voices; and I knew some ill-begotten sons of evil mothers were in hiding at the corner where the road forks. And because of the nature of that place I knew they could hardly lurk there very long without discovering the bundle I had left under a heap of stones. If they had already found it, then my night's labor was in vain, unless I were stronger than they, and more cunning. Allah is my friend.
“I bade the sahiba sit down where she was and be still in the shadow of an over hanging crag. I laid my load beside her. I drew this knife. And I went forward, praying to the Lord of All, and not forgetting the sahiba's pistol that I had borrowed when she came out of the well.
“Sahibs, there were six men at the corner; and a seventh, who kept watch between me and them—a misbegotten son of Belial, whom Allah blinded and made deaf and dumb, lest he hear me, or see me, and give the alarm. His Majesty be praised! I slew the fool, severing the wind-pipe at a blow, and he went over the cliff, making no more noise than a stone that the wind and rain have loosened.
“I heard the six exclaim—a lousy gang they were, with tongues that took the Name of Names in vain. They called to the dead fool who had stood watch with his eyes shut, and I answered them, changing my voice to sound as if I were chewing something. I said a stone had slipped down under my weight; whereat they called me a noisy fool, and continued talking to one another. They were lurking there for fugitives from the fighting, intending to rob, like the sons of Um Kulsum they are.
“So I took thought, and Allah is my friend. I stuck the knife into my girdle—lo, the blood, sahibs, in proof I lie not! I gathered two stones in either hand, and those I hurled into their midst. Then I fired the pistol four times, jumping this and that way, that it might seem I was many men. And I shouted, as if to men behind me, rushing forward, kicking stones before me as I ran. Whereat they all took to flight, except one man, who stood his ground and fired at me. Him I slew with the knife, and he fell over backwards into the ravine. In the devil's name, he took the rifle with him, and I hope his soul may scorch forever in hell-flame!
“I found my bundle, sahibs. The besotted fools had not seen it. I returned to the sahiba. I unwrapped the bundle. Then I bound it up again, for I remembered that a wise man takes all precautions. Lo, it was darker down near the corner, and easier to hear if any one should sneak around from the other fork of the track—moreover, easier to hide the plunder there in case of accident. Together we bore my belongings down to the place where I had conquered seven men; and there in the dark she tucked her hair up, and I set the red cap on her head, and I bound thereon the white uleema's turban very carefully.
“I bade her remove her outer garments, but she refused. It was well enough, for she is slender and well-shaped, whereas that shaveling grows fat from easy living and his clothes would have hung loosely on her. All she would take off were the leggings; and her stockings and the laced shoes were like the effeminate things a Hindu wears when he has had an education. All passed muster, save that she is better-looking than the shaveling, and without his swaggering conceit. In the dark she would pass for a man; and surely none would shame himself by slaying one who wore the white uleema's turban. I was satisfied. I praised Allah, and bethought me of your honor's good will presently to be bestowed.
“Allah be my witness that I lie not! I set to work to hide those heavy burdens, this kettle and the food first, then what I had lifted from the Waziri packs, intending nothing but to go then in search of your honor and to deliver the sahiba into your honor's keeping. Who shall read Allah's mind?
“The kettle and the food were safely stowed. I was searching for a place to put the other things—a large enough place, sahibs, for I had helped myself!—when a voice spoke in the dark beside me! The sahiba checked a scream. She is brave. She felt for her pistol, but I had that, as I have told you. And it was just as well, for the voice was a voice I knew.
“'O Akbar bin Mahommed,” he said softly, 'I am Ali, thy brother, and I need thy aid.'”
“Nay, sahibs, he is not my mother's son, but a man who follows Kangra Khan. He and I once swore blood-fellowship. But now I have a grudge against him, and he shall pay in full! Mistaking the sahiba for a man, because of the darkness doubtless, for she has not yet learned how to carry herself, he whispered to me, minded not to let another hear.
“'Up yonder in the sangar I slew the sahiba,” he told me.
“So I answered that he lied, he protesting.
“'Aye,' said, he 'I slew her, and here is the proof of it.'
“And he showed me the sleeve of her long coat, torn off at the shoulder. Whereat I thought it best to humor him, so I asked him, what then?
“And he told me Kangra Khan had sent him lurking near the sangar wall to seize the girl and carry her off; but that he had come near death, and had slain her with his fingers at her throat rather than fail entirely. He escaped, so he said, by a miracle, and so, returning to Kangra Khan at a place appointed, had told his tale, expecting praise. Yet Kangra Khan grew furiously angry, cursing him for having thrown away a crore of rupees, miscalling him outrageous names, and threatening to have him flayed alive by women before a fire. Yet Ali is a man whom Kangra Khan has loved exceedingly, and when Ali begged an opportunity to make such amends as might be, the favor was granted. Yet not an easy task! Nay, nay!
“'Go,” ordered Kangra Khan, and bring me that man Ram-is-den, living and unhurt, in the girl's place. Thus we may yet win a ransom!'
“So Ali set forth. He did not tell me that he took ten men with him. May Allah roast him in eternal flames for that!—for he and I were brothers.
“AND LO, while Ali and I talked, the ten came sneaking around the corner, curse them! One knocked me down by a blow on the head from behind, believing doubtless he had killed me—but Allah is my friend. They seized the sahiba, and all that plunder I had not yet hidden, and they ran–I following, as soon as the blow ceased from echoing in my head, and my eyes could see, and I stand upright.
“Ali had run too; but he shall not run very far! His next long march shall be on the road to ! Aye, it maybe they gagged the girl, for she did not scream. But the next time I caught sight of her she was riding on the horse, between four men, and not gagged nor in any way molested.
“Great—great—great is the Lord of All, and praise be to His Prophet! Lo, I laid my head between my knees in a frenzy—in a supplication! I was like a woman in labor of child. As a man was I who is torn between four camels! Allah! Go I forward to rescue the sahiba—eleven they be, to one! And who am I to fight eleven men? Shall I search among the crags for my friend Ram-is-den—whom Allah bless!—and tell him I have lost his wife? Mashallah! What a storm of wrath I must endure then! What a lightning! What a thundering! For thou, O Ram-is-den, art a man of muscle and great anger—a hearty man and headstrong, whom I love, and whom, inshallah, I would rather serve than kill!
“Nay, I dared not seek thee, Ram-is-den! What then? Shall I follow? Shall I lurk, and call to the sahiba to escape to my protection in the dark? Nay, nay! She is a woman, unused to darkness or the Hills—one woman against eleven men. If she attempts it, they will slay her. If she comes to me, then clumsily she comes; and they detect us both, and slay us both, and gone is mine honor! What else? Shall I stay there, then, and wait for Ram-is-den to come to me in search of the sahiba? Nay, by the Forty Martyrs! Ram-is-den will pick a feud with me, not waiting for a true account. In haste and anger he will smite, for his honor's sake, because his wife is lost! And who am I that I should lie in wait and slay my friend? So there was no course open to me. I smote my brow and my breast in vain. Shall I run away? Shall I run home? Shall I hide, and forget? Then may Allah hide, and forget me!
“Allah is my friend. He who knoweth all things put a thought into my heart. Lo, I go forward. Lo, I follow and observe. As a jackal tracks the leopard, lo I keep down-wind of them. Said I, if she were my wife, and I Ram-is-den, would I not very swiftly clap my foot and frenzy on the trail? As a she-bear whose young one has been netted Ram-is-den will pursue; and are the leggings and the hat not where the sahiba laid them? He will pick up the scent and come swiftly! He will see the horse-dung, and maybe a footprint—mine! for I laid it there.
“Mashallah! Who in all these hills can stalk as I can? They went swiftly. Yet not so very swiftly, for the horse was a sorry beast, and ill-fed, and must keep the track, helped even so by ten men at the broken places. I could hear the blows they struck him, and his floundering—she protesting. The sahiba's voice was as a golden bell, and they made her be silent; but neither knew the other's language, so it maybe they gagged her again. As Allah is my witness, I can not speak as to the truth of that.
“I kept the higher ground. I know the short cuts. Not a leveret—no quail—no kite—no jackal knows these hills as thoroughly as I do, God preserve me! So I followed, keeping one ear and an eye for Ram-is-den. And by-and-by I heard thee, O father-of-an-elephant. And by-and-by I called to thee, lest devils steal the light of Allah from thee and decoy thee on the wrong trail. Allah is thy friend, and mine.
“But by the holy hair of the Prophet's Beard, there came to pass a worse befalling than any yet! For Allah willed that they eleven should be met by Kangra Khan's men—thirty and upward, as I lie not!—and there was a fight with knives. No shooting. Nay, and so the sahiba was unhurt. I crept close. I heard all, seeing little because of darkness. One slew the horse, and I went closer yet, hoping to seize the sahiba and carry her off while the fought among themselves.
“Lo, but their bellies were full of fighting for a while to come! They fought, and they argued between whiles, none shooting, lest Kangra Khan might hear and make pursuit. The thirty sought to persuade the eleven to run away home; and they knew who the prisoner was, for one had seized her when the horse was slain, and the outer garment tore, showing the woman's riding raiment underneath. There were groans and oaths in the dark, for some were wounded; and one man, seeking a place where he might sit to bind his leg, sat on me, who lurked between two stones. I slew him. He made no sound. But he was not my brother Ali. So I crept in search of Ali, hoping to slay him, and seize the sahiba, and carry her off while they argued.
“But lo! As birds cease chattering and take wing, they agreed and were gone! Between two breaths they were gone, with the sahiba in their midst! And I, seeking the rifle of the fellow I had slain, found none. He was a dog—a yellow dog—a snooter-among-dung-heaps—armed with nothing but a butcher's knife stolen from the stalls in Dera Ismail! Lo, behold it! The bull, whose throat was cut with such a thing, died, by the Blood of the Prophet, of shame before the dishonorable skewer touched the skin!
“Allah! They were gone like wind! Like jackals afraid of the dawn! And by that I knew they would not go far; for he who fears the dawn, and fears the leader he deserts, loves caves. And there be great caves hereabouts. Great caves and little ones, among which Kangra Khan might hunt a year in vain; for there are run-ways in between them; hunter and hunted may play at hide-and-seek forever!
“I was confounded. I had failed. Yet not so! Allah is my friend. I thought of Ram-is-den, whose belly, thinks I, by this time is as hollow as a drum, and whose great bulk is an easy target in the dark. By Allah, had I not carried the kettle all this distance, and the eggs, not breaking one! Shall he who is my friend be hungry, and I have food? May He who seeth all forget me, if I as much as think of it!
“So by Allah, I hied me to this place; and I gathered little sticks, but not enough of them, for where are trees in all these hills? Yet Allah brought a thought to mind, and I remembered where the Kumara-Afridis hid the bulls they lifted from across the British border a year ago. So I brought dung—and lo, a good fire. Then water. Sahibs, I was hard put to it for water! Allah bear me witness how I prayed!
“Lo, water! Had we not tea? Was the stuff not excellent? There are no wells hereabouts—none nearer than the great cave, whither it maybe they have taken the sahiba; though there is a good one there, in a ravine between the great cave and the next one. But observe, sahibs: in the direction of my finger, northward, that way, lies a village so evil—so black with shame—that Allah cursed it, and the wells ran dry three months ago. And I bethought me how the women rise before dawn, and walk many miles for the water, with a man or two guarding them.
“Allah guided me. I found their path. And an old hag had a sore foot. Lo, she sat in a hollow place with the water-crock still balanced on her head because it was full, and too heavy to raise in case she set it down. So I gave her a new pain to offset the other, and filled the kettle from her crock, she weeping anew because now after she reached home she must make a second journey; for they swill water in that village like pigs on the plains of Hind. Women are women, sahibs. None may understand them. The hag was not at all pleased to have slaked the dry throats of honorable men. So I smote her and ran, for I heard others coming, and the men who guarded them with rifles were of a certainty not far away. So, tea, praise be to Allah!
“Then ye sahibs came. And here we sit in Allah's sight, who seeth all. We have eaten and drank, and have a hen to cook scant fare, indeed, for three men, yet better than emptiness. Inshallah, there is good luck awaiting us. I am thy friend, Ram-is-den. May God forget me, if I lie! And as for this man—he is a Sikh, yet I will befriend him for thy sake, Ram-is-den. I love thee. Great is Allah!”
AKBAR BIN MAHOMMED sat still, gaze eyeing me with that burning gaze of the Northerner, that by intensity and concentration can detect the very thought behind guarded speech. And he smiled; for he saw I was in no mood to find fault with him. He believed Joan Angela was my wife, and he had failed to protect her; moreover, he had failed to keep his promise to bring the “shaveling” alive to me. Maybe he had acted unwisely in a dozen ways; and he was certainly a rogue—a murderer—a conscienceless thief. Yet I wish I might be half as faithful in my obligations to a friend. The only claim I had on him was that I had loosed his hands. His promise to me had been made under duress. He would certainly be killed, and doubtless cruelly, if Kangra Khan should ever learn the truth and happen to lay hands on him.
“We must take the trail at once,” said I.
But Narayan Singh said nothing, and Akbar bin Mahommed took snuff from a box made of two brass cartridge-cases, offering me first helping.
“Nay, nay!” he said presently. “In the name of Allah, sleep! These hills be full of hunted men. I know the Hills! Pathan and Waziri are at one another's throats. The sides men took mean nothing now. Each one for himself, and the shortest road home! Loot—that is all that matters! By day, the men whom we are seeking hide and none save Allah knoweth where; yet we would be a mark against a skyline. When the night comes they will fare forth; and we likewise. In the dark all men are equal, and numbers nothing against cunning. Sleep, sahib. Wait for the night.”
I met Narayan Singh's eyes. He and I had the same thought.
“Turn about!” he said gruffly.
“Then ye two take the first spell,” said the Hillman, snatching the sheepskin from off our shoulders and rolling it up for a pillow. “Sleep there together, while I watch.”
“I will keep the first watch,” said Narayan Singh.
“Nay, it is better that I do,” the other answered with growing impatience. “I will sit in the cave-mouth and watch what may happen on the country-side. So when night falls I shall know better what to advise.”
“Thou and I together then,” said Narayan Singh.
The Sikh's hereditary, ingrained distrust of the Hillman, reenforced no doubt by long experience, was not to be offset by a tale of a night's adventure. Whether he believed or disbelieved Akbar bin Mahommed's story, he did not propose to trust him.
But it seemed to me we had small choice. If we should offend him, he might turn against us as swiftly and as savagely as he had hitherto tried to serve. Should we two prove too many for him, he could easily slip away and bring friends to his aid by promising them a share of the loot. Without him we were helpless. We must keep his friendship at all costs—take all chances. I drew out my pistol and passed it to him, butt-first.
“That's in proof I trust you,” I said. “Keep it for me while I sleep. Narayan Singh, give him your rifle!”
The Sikh obeyed. He did not like it, but he is the bravest fellow in the world when it comes to obeying orders against his inclination. Akbar bin Mahommed grinned, understanding the mental conflict perfectly.
“May I eat dirt,” he said to me, “if I break faith, as Allah is my witness, Ram-is-den! And as for thee—” he smiled a trifle thinly at Narayan Singh—“I am thy friend for his sake!”
“Of which the proof will be the outcome!” Narayan Singh answered none too tactfully; and then came and lay beside me.
So we slept, with our heads on one rolled sheepskin, and our lives were for a number of hours in the hands of Akbar bin Mahommed, thief by religion and murderer by habit!