Mohammed's Tooth/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
“I will not slay thee, even to possess the Tooth!”
I DON'T dream much as a general rule. The blow I received on the head the night of my capture by Kangra Khan's men may have had something to do with it. There may be something in environment. Sleep on the hard floor of a drafty cave, side by side with a Sikh, with your head on a sheepskin and a professional murderer keeping guard, after a night of prodigious fighting and a meal of hard-boiled eggs and cold chupatties, is conceivably disturbing to the normal mental processes.
I dreamt Joan Angela walked straight into the cave, and sat down beside Narayan Singh and me to talk with us. She was dressed in riding-kit, without the turban and accessories belonging to the “shaveling.” She seemed her normal self in most respects. She was apparently uninjured, and not exactly unhappy; but her delight in adventure for its own sake seemed to have entirely disappeared, and she was pale—calm—serious.
“This fighting has got to be stopped, Jeff!” she said as soon as she had sat down. “I refuse to be responsible for any more of it.”
I forget what my dream-answer was; perhaps I made none. But Narayan Singh, who in the dream was squatting cross-legged beside me, leaned forward tracing figures with his finger in the dust of the cave floor, and after a pause spoke sententiously, as his way not seldom is.
“The truth,” said he, “is true. It is one; and there is no alternative.”
Explain that how you like. I can't make head or tail of it, but in the dream it seemed apt and enlightening. Joan Angela nodded.
“Attempts to rescue me,” she said, “can only lead to more fighting, of which there has already been too much. Yet if I agree to pay the ransom, that will only lead to more kidnaping; and I do not choose to be responsible for that either.”
All this while, in the dream, some one—Akbar bin Mahommed, I suppose—was sitting in the cave-mouth keeping watch, but making no comment, as if the whole proceedings were entirely in order. Narayan Singh appeared particularly undisturbed, but even more than usually thoughtful.
“Yet if you were to be killed,” he said, “that would be the cause of more fighting than ever, since the British would feel themselves obliged to punish the Tribesmen, and they, disliking to be punished, would resist.”
“Very true,” said Joan Angela. “So I must live, although life among these people is unpleasant. They eat so disgustingly; and I don't know their language. However, I can learn it; and when I get hungry enough I shall eat without distress. But you must not try to rescue me. I will go with them; and you must go the other way, and tell people I am very likely dead, so that the British won't send an expedition.”
“That is wisest,” said Narayan Singh.
I heard those three words “that is wisest” as distinctly as I can now hear the clock ticking on the wall of this lime-washed hospital. Then I awoke, full of indignation, and stretched out my hand to prevent Joan Angela from going; for in the dream she had started in great haste to leave the cave. My hand struck against Narayan Singh. The blow awoke him, and he sat up. Blinking, we both stared at Grim in the cave mouth, sitting on guard with two rifles and a pistol in his lap! Akbar bin Mahommed was not there.
Narayan Singh looked into my eyes and nudged me. I nudged him. We were both awake.
“Is it you, Jim, or your ghost?” I asked.
“It's me,” said Grim, and went on watching something down below the cave.
“Where's King?” I asked.
“Who knows? Licking the Waziris into shape, I hope,” he answered.
“Any news of Joan Angela?”
“No more than you have. I've been listening to Mahommed bin Akbar.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone to look for her. Just went. We talked over various plans, including one that he should scout for news of her whereabouts, and I concluded that was wisest.”
“What time is it?”
“High noon, or a little after.”
“Have you slept?”
“No.”
“Eaten?”
“Yes.”
“Better sleep now, hadn't you?”
“Yes, I think so, if you're through.”
He looked so deathly tired that I had not the heart to question him further until sleep should have restored him to his normal taciturnity. Then he would be sure to tell us all that was essential, if no more. So when he had given the Sikh his rifle, and handed the pistol to me, he went and lay down where we had lain, and fell asleep that instant.
Narayan Singh and I sat in the cave-mouth, saying nothing for a long while, watching as much of the landscape as we could see in either direction, with especial attention to the kites, whose movements as a rule betray the whereabouts of any considerable parties of men.
“Did you dream a while back?” I asked him at last.
“Aye, sahib. The sahiba came. She spoke. In the dream we were squatting down beside her.
“'I go,' said she, 'to the village belonging to these people; and there I think you will find me alive, if you should travel fast enough' And I said in my dream, 'We come, sahiba.' And she said, 'When?' I answered, 'Tonight.' And she said to me, 'That is wisest.' Then the sahib woke me with a blow across the jaw that tingles yet; and lo, Jimgrim was sitting there!”
I hove a great sigh of relief. Not both dreams could be right. My old nurse used to say dreams go by contraries, but even so, both dreams reversed would still remain opposites. We were to go, and we were not to go. We were to rescue her, and we were not to rescue her.
“Stewed tea and hard-boiled eggs!” said I.
“Chupatties!” said he. “Cooked by a Hill-woman—phaugh!”
Yet neither of us quite dismissed his dream from mind. We sat there on the qui vive, listening to Grim's snores, and peering in turns around the rock that blocked two-thirds of the cave-mouth; and when we conversed at rare intervals it was more of the dreams than of how Grim came to be there. Narayan Singh you might say is a specialist in such matters, accepting as obvious facts what to the West would seem crazy theories.
“The dreams mean this, sahib,” he said after a while. “We shall rescue her. Nevertheless, whatever plan we make will be a bad one, leading only to more bloodshed; whereas the true plan will be unfolded by the Gods. Being blind, we are unable to do right. Yet going forward, we can not set one foot wrong. We are but agents in these matters.”
I would like to believe him. It would take the worry out of nine-tenths of existence. But I notice that he, too, worries on occasion in spite of his convictions; and I wonder just how much of his philosophy he honestly believes, and how much is habit.
He worried more than I did as the sun wore down toward the west and there began to be signs of movement here and there among the ugly crags. The wind began blowing half a hurricane, whistling into our cave and drowning out most other noises; but once in a while we heard sniping, and twice a yell reached us that told some one had hit the living mark, or missed.
Grim slept on. He can worry, too, but seldom when he has faced a situation and made up his mind on a course; so I judged by the calmness of his sleep that he had fully decided what to do and was characteristically storing up strength for the effort.
AFTER a while Narayan Singh crept out and climbed a crag, from which to get a better view of the locality. To make the most of that he had to stand upright on the top, and was clearly silhouetted against the sky. Someone three hundred yards away began shooting at him. The first shot missed altogether, but announced the sniper's general whereabouts. The second chipped a piece of rock from close beside the Sikh's feet. The third chipped the rock again, a little to the left. The fourth shot was mine. I used Grim's rifle, and it proved to be a very good one.
Narayan Singh returned and squatted once more in the cave-mouth.
“There is smoke a mile away,” he announced, “but the wind blows and spreads it. It is hard to tell exactly whence it comes. It is the smoke of many men.”
I took a turn at scouting, selecting another crag, while Narayan Singh covered me. But there were no more gentry sniping thereabouts; or if there were, they took to heart the first one's fate. I stood up unmolested, and a fluke in the wind gave me a clear view down a gorge to the side of a ravine that the gorge entered at a right angle. The smoke was issuing from the mouth of a cavern, and there was lots of it. I judged they had a fire in there that would have roasted an ox; and that meant the presence of women, for the men-folk prefer discomfort to the business of gathering and bringing fuel.
Before the wind fluked again and the smoke blotted out the view I saw about twenty men sitting on a ledge outside the cavern; and that looked as if they were not in the least afraid of being seen. But I could not tell whether they were Waziris or Pathans. When I returned to the cave Grim was awake. He had raked the fragments of our scattered fire together, spitted Mahommed bin Akbar's hen on a stick, and was toasting it. We ate the bird, and it was beastly but sufficed.
“What next?” I asked him; and he was about to answer when Akbar bin Mahommed came in, munching dry corn that he had stolen somewhere.
“May Allah bless you!” he said handsomely. “May Allah make that hen enough for you! I found a fool with a bag full of this good food, who thought to knife me from behind a rock. But by Allah, as he followed me I followed him, and took him by the heel—it was a little rock. I pulled him back toward me, thus; and as he turned on his back to fight me, I drove my knife into his belly, thus; and he has no more hunger, whereas I would have been starving presently! Moreover, I did Allah a great service, ridding the earth of a pig who cumbered it! He was a”
“News! What news have you brought?” demanded Grim.
“Oh, as for that, I did not discover much. I watched the mouth of that cavern from this side of the ravine. There is Kangra Khan with nearly a hundred men. I did not see the sahiba, but I know they have her with them, because those outside the cavern keep peering within curiously. The wives of some of Kangra Khan's men are there; they brought fuel, and much food; from time to time they carry water, and there is a great cooking going on. I think they have determined on a long march. I think they will go home.”
“How many days' march?” Grim demanded.
“Eleven days, if there is no fighting on the way. But it is slower by night; and if there is fighting, who knows?”
“Are you from Kangra Khan's village?”
“Praise be to Allah, no! I come from a decent place, a half-day's march from his dung-hill. Lo, my home is in the shadow of the graves of holy ones, whom Allah bless! Mine is a town of fair women—a city of delights—a paradise! His stinks! I would not live there. I came southward looking for a profit after all the big talk Kangra Khan made, but that dung-hill of his is the mother of buzzing flies and naught else—words without a doing at the end of them!”
“What's the name of the place?”
“They call it Kangra Khan's. It deserves no better name.”
“And the name of yours?”
He would not tell. The more he was questioned, the more he fell back on eva sion. Whether it was superstition or mere caution it was difficult to guess, but he was resolute; he would not name the place he came from.
“Allah knows its name!” he answered. “It is a city of trees and splendid buildings. There is a mosque a dozen times more lovely than the Taj Mahal!”
“Have you seen the Taj Mahal?” Grim asked him.
“Nay. Why take the trouble? Have I not seen the mosque in my city? There is nothing fairer.”
“Well,” said Grim, “to get to your home, must we go by Kangra Khan's?”
“Aye, if Allah wills. Between here and there it might be there would happen fighting!”
“And the Waziris? Where do they live?”
“Over beyond. Forever to the northward. They are not true Waziris, but a cross-bred spawn who fell heirs to three villages because the Afridi, who used to live thereabouts, were too weak to withstand them. They will never get home. There are too many tribes on the watch, and no friends anywhere! And if they did reach home, they would find the Afridis waiting. Show me that Tooth of the Prophet, sahib. Bless me with it! I have in mind to loot a few Waziris before too many Pathans get the first pick!”
Grim thought a minute, then produced the “Prophet's Tooth.” It looked as if it had been in a rain-washed skull for centuries. He had it folded in a piece of paper, on which was some writing in Persian characters, and he held it carefully, giving Akbar bin Mahommed no more than a glimpse of it.
“It can curse as well as bless!” he said meaningly.
“I bade thee bless me with it!”
“Aye, but I will curse thee with it, unless thou art amenable!”
“To what?”
“To me!”
“Mashallah! Thou art an Arab. Shall I obey an Arab? Thou truly art an Arab—is it not so?”
“Aye,” said Grim, “a Hajji. Thrice I have made the pilgrimage to Mecca.”
“Thrice blessed one!” said Akbar bin Mahommed. “Nay! I will not be cursed! What then?”
Grim seemed to hesitate, but I knew that he was acting; he had made his mind up. He clutched the tooth in its paper wrapping close to his breast, as if he loved it. His eyes glowed as he stared at Akbar bin Mahommed, and he seemed to recognize in the Hillman's face something splendid—something that thrilled him. Yet he clutched the tooth again, and seemed to wage a war within himself, forcing himself at last to speak.
“Thou art a man—a very man—a man indeed—a good man, art thou not?” he asked.
“None better!”said the Hillman modestly.
“And a good chief thou wouldst be?”
“Aye, had I but a following. But the fools follow others.”
“They would follow the Tooth of Mohammed, the Prophet of God!”
“Aye!”
“And thee, if it were thine!”
“By Allah, would they not! Nevertheless, thou art a holy Hajji, and I will not slay thee, even to possess the tooth!”
Grim looked astonished. His jaw dropped. Astonishment gave place to wonder—wonder to admiration—admiration to excitement—excitement at last to a measure of caution. It was marvelous good acting.
“Near the place where the Prophet of Allah used to pray in the holy city of Mecca, a very holy and white-bearded sheik, who used to pray there seven times daily, waiting for the hour when he should die, gave me the blessed Prophet's tooth,” said Grim.
“Peace be to him! In the name of the Most High, peace to him!” said Akbar bin Mahommed.
“Thrice seven years had he waited there, praying seven times daily in that spot, keeping all the fasts. And when he saw me, he knew me instantly, having oftentimes be held me in a vision in a dream,” said Grim.
“Allaho akbar!”
“He pressed the blessed tooth into my hands, thus, wrapped in this paper that bears the Prophet's blessing written with his own hand.”
“Allaho akbar!”
“And he laid a charge on me.”
“Thrice blessed one!”
“'Go thou,' said he to me, 'to the mountains northwest of Peshawar, where thou shalt find a man—a warrior—a very Rustum—whose name shall be an attribute of God, and whose other name shall be the Prophet's.' That might be thou,” Grim suggested.
“I and no other?”
“'With him have word,' said he. And he described the man to me, signifying such an one as thou art—even with a white scar like a star, five-pointed, on the face between the eye and nose.”
“Allah! Surely he meant me then!”
“'But I charge thee in the name of the All-wise,' said he, 'to have great care, lest the holy Tooth should fall into evil, incapable hands. For the Tooth is for that one whom thou shalt meet; and when he shall possess the Tooth he shall straightway become a great chieftain.'”
“It is I, and no other! Give me then the Tooth!” exclaimed Akbar bin Mahommed.
“And he spoke to me after this wise: 'There is a good man, who shall have the holy Tooth, and a bad one, who will greatly desire it. Each of them will say these words to thee: “Thou art a holy Hajji, and I will not slay thee, even to possess the Tooth.” Nevertheless,' said he again, 'thou shalt know the good one from the evil one after this manner. Lo, he who is evil will refuse to obey thee. But he who is good will obey thee in all things for an hundred days, or until such time as thou releasest him. To him, when he has obeyed thee, give the Tooth, with my blessing in the Name of Names. He shall be a great chief.'”
Akbar bin Mahommed's eyes burned. His fingers clutched his knife-blade. He could have killed Grim for the Tooth that instant, but for his own vow not to, and for a certain dim sense of the proprieties.
“Lo, I obey thee! Have I not obeyed?” he asked, with bated breath. Excitement had him by the throat. He could hardly speak.
“Not yet for an hundred days,” Grim answered. “Nor have I yet met the second man—the evil one. When I meet him”
“Ill for him in that hour!” the Hillman interrupted. “I will slay the dog in Allah's name! I will hack him into pieces and burn the foul bits on a dung-heap! It is I who am the good one, I assure thee.”
“Maybe,” Grim answered. “We have yet to prove that. Lo, there is a great trust laid on me, and I must put thee to the utmost test.”
Akbar bin Mahommed thumped his breast and laid his forehead on the cave floor. Then, looking straight into Grim's eyes:
“Inshallah, I will not fail!” he said simply. “I obey thee. And moreover, this being the will of Allah and the charge of the holy sheik, it must follow that I pass unscathed through all things! Can I die, and yet possess this Tooth? Nay. Then since I must possess the Tooth—for that is written—surely I cannot die! Lo, then, I am a lion! Lo, not Ali was a safer one than I! I may dare all things! Obey? I will obey thee if the order is to walk through fire”
“By the Forty Martyrs, I am not a mad man!” answered Grim, judging his customer shrewdly. “What good would it do me to see a fool singe himself? It is my orders, not thy boastfulness thou must obey!”
“Say the word, and I march to Mecca, Hajji!”
“Nay, for then I could not keep an eye on thee.”
“Bid me slay an hundred men!”
“Not thou but I must choose the orders.”
“Choose, then, Hajji! Be swift! My bosom burns! By Allah, I obey thee if the order is to—” he glanced at me, and grinned—“to fight this Ram-is-den!”
“Nay, Ram-is-den is my friend,” answered Grim.
“I will slay you the Sikh, then!”
“He likewise. It is I who choose the deeds that must be done.”
“In Allah's name then, choose thou Hajji! Be swift with the beginning!”
Little the Hillman guessed what a taskmaster he was dealing with. Grim's eyes, whose color is all mixed of gray, and blue, and brown, so that those who know him hardly ever agree as to what their color really is, hardened—lost their romantic gleam—grew cold, with a different fervor. Narayan Singh, who knew that sign of old, caught his breath sharply and leaned forward.
“Does Kangra Khan know you have taken the part of the sahiba, and of this sahib, and of this Sikh?” Grim asked.
“Nay. How should he?”
“Does he know you were made prisoner?”
“Surely. Why not? I was prisoner or dead man. Allah! What else should he think?”
“But those men, with whom you fought in the dark? Your brother Ali? Will they not tell Kangra Khan you are alive and a traitor?”
“Nay, I know them! They will say I was stealing the sahiba on my own account, having made my own escape. They will show the loot I took from the Waziri packs. They will say she watched it for me. Kangra Khan will laugh, saying I am a greater thief than ever!”
“Presently,” said Grim, “before the sun sets, thou shalt go with me to the cavern where Kangra Khan is. Thy first task is to introduce me to him, winning his great favor in consequence, boasting thou hast persuaded me to show him favor.”
Akbar bin Mahommed looked first incredulous, then crafty. Then his face lit with guile and greed as all the possibilities of this new turn of events dawned on his imagination.
“Allah be praised, who designeth all things!” he exclaimed. “I understand thee! I will slay this Kangra Khan, who is a cockerel from a very smelly dung-heap. Then thou shalt give me the Prophet's Tooth, and proclaim me chief. Thus shall the prophecy be fulfilled! Thou art a wise and cunning fellow, Hajji—I a strong one and a bold! Hah! Inshallah, I shall be a great chief; and there shall be a war such as these borders have never before seen!”
“There shall be a cursing such as thou hast never heard!” Grim hastened to assure him.
And with that, he passed his hand over his mouth, removing the plate that holds in place the false teeth of his upper-jaw on either side. His cheeks sunk instantly. It changes the whole expression of his face, making him almost unrecognizable. Then he scowled, squinted inward, thrust his tongue between his teeth, and made a noise in his throat that resembled something boiling up from within him. He waved the tooth in its paper packet to and fro.
“Nay, Hajji! Nay! What have I done? Nay! Keep thy curses for an enemy. I am thy friend—indeed thy friend! By Allah, I will obey thee! Say the word, and I will nestle Kangra Khan to my bosom. I will slay his enemies! I will—”
Grim's aspect changed, although he did not let a hint of a smile escape him.
“I begin to believe thou art truly the one,” he said nodding.
“Aye. By Allah, I am he. No doubt Of it!” Grim passed the tooth to me. With utmost outward reverence I stowed it out of sight.
“These two,” said Grim, pointing to Narayan Singh and me, “are made custodians of the Holy Tooth until such time as I, and no other, bid them convey it to thee. Thou and I are thus freed—I of danger, and thou of temptation.”
“I would not slay thee, little Hajji!”
“Nay, I know it! And it would be yet more difficult to slay these two men. Moreover, should accident befall me—for none knoweth when his hour comes—these two will keep the Tooth, because they may not part with it without my order.”
“Little Hajji, how I will preserve thee! None less than Allah shall do thee a harm! I will nurse thee like a fledgling! But who shall preserve them?”
“Allah, who is Lord of all,” said Grim.
“Yet the one is a Sikh, who is damned, and the other an Amelikani whose God is a dollar, as all the world knows! A pious Moslem would deem he did Allah a favor by driving a bullet through both of them!”
“That is why I have appointed them custodians of the Tooth,” said Grim. “It will preserve them both.”
Akbar bin Mahommed saw the force of that, but he was far from satisfied. However, it was no use arguing with Grim; a very kaffir[1] could have seen that the Hajji was full to the brim of retorts and evasiveness, and besides, the longer he talked the longer it would be before he won the tooth and with it a key to chieftainship. By the look in his eyes he already saw himself unquestioned ruler of a thousand villages.
“I am ready. Allah is my witness,” he said proudly—simply. No crusader starting for the Holy Land ever felt, or looked more consecrated.
Grim turned to me and spoke in Arabic, which might as well have been ancient Greek as far as Akbar bin Mahommed was concerned, although he could mouth a few Koran texts from memory.
“I don't care to meet Kangra Khan before dark,” he said. “That night when he first called on us the fire was between him and me, but even so he might recognize me, even with my teeth out. I have no plan, except to get word with Miss Leich, and if possible to discover what Kangra Khan intends. He may march tonight. As soon as it's dark you two go as close as you dare. I'll try to get in touch with you, so keep a look out. But if I fail to do that, and Kangra Khan marches, follow on our heels.”
“What about King and the Waziris?” I suggested.
“He’s already to the northward, trying to work between Kangra Khan and his probable objective. He'll try to persuade the Waziris to put up another fight, but they're short of ammunition and may prefer to scatter and run. In that case King will try to raise some other clans to hound Kangra Khan. There's nothing certain. The next half-hour may see us all dead. On the other hand, we may rescue Miss Leich tonight. You fellows must be alert and use discretion.”
Narayan Singh grunted. He loves commands of that kind. Once in Palestine they gave him a letter to carry across the Jordan and down into Arabia, with leave to use discretion; and he was so discreet that he came back uninjured, with an answer and two camel-loads of loot. Besides, he knows those gruesome hills more or less, having campaigned among them rather frequently when he was in the Indian Army. He was all I had to rely on, for I don't know those hills at all; and though I understand the lingua franca, I speak it with an obviously foreign accent.
It does not amuse me to be sniped by dark or daylight. I believe Narayan Singh enjoys it. I enjoy a stand-up fight, although I’m ashamed to admit it; but cold steel in the dark gives me the shudders. Narayan Singh prefers cold steel to rifle fire. Grim revels in work, and seems to have no preferences. He went and stood in the cave-mouth, back to the light.
“Allah keep you, my brothers. Allah give you strength and courage. Allah bless you!” he said—and was gone.
“Huh! I know a thousand gods superior to Allah!” growled Narayan Singh.
- ↑ Unbeliever.