FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 11: Hail, Mother.]

[Footnote 12: Darling.]

CHAPTER VIII.

"The forces that fashion, the hands that mould, Are the winds fire-laden, the sky, the rain;--

They are G.o.ds no more, but their spells remain."

--SIR ALFRED LYALL.

Dewali night at last; and all Jaipur astir in the streets at sundown awaiting the given moment that never quite loses its quality of miracle....

For weeks every potter's wheel had been whirling, double tides, turning out clay chiraghs by the thousand, that none might fail of honouring Mai Lakshmi--a compound of Minerva and Ceres,--worshipped in the living gold of fire and the dead gold of minted coin.

And all day long there ebbed and flowed through the temple doors a rainbow-coloured stream of worshippers; while the dust-laden air vibrated with jangle of metal bells, wail of conches and raucous clamour of crows. Within doors, the rattle of dice rivalled the jangle of bells.

Young or old, none failed to consult those mysterious arbiters on this auspicious day. Houses, shops, and balconies had been swept and plastered with fresh cow dung, in honour of Vishnu's bride; and gayest among festal shop-fronts was the dazzling array of toys. For the Feast of Lights is also a feast of toys in bewildering variety; in sugar, in paper, in burnt clay; tinselled, or gorgeously painted with colours such as never were on ox or elephant, fish or bird.

What matter? To the uncritical Eastern eye, colour is all.

And, as the day wore on, colour, and yet more colour, was spilled abroad in the wide main streets that are an arresting feature of Jaipur. Men, women, and children, in gala turbans and gala draperies, laughing and talking at full pitch of their lungs; gala elephants sheathed in cloth of gold, their trunks and foreheads patterned in divers colours; scarlet outriders clearing a pathway through the maze of turbans that bobbed to and fro like a bed of parrot-tulips in a wind. Crimson, agate, and apricot, copper and flame colour, greens and yellows; every conceivable harmony and discord; nothing to rival it anywhere, Sir Lakshman told Roy; save perhaps in Gwalior or Mandalay.

Roy had spent most of the morning in the city, lunching with his grandfather and imbibing large draughts of colour from an airy minaret on the roof top. Then home to the Residency for tea, only to insist on carrying them all back in the car--Thea, Aruna, Flossie, and the children, who must have their share of strange sweets and toys, if only 'for luck,' the watchword of Dewali.

As for Aruna--to-day everything in the world seemed to hang on the frail thread of those two words. And what of to-night...?

All had been arranged in conjunction with Roy. His insistence on the cousinly privilege of protecting her had arisen from a private confession that she shrank from joining the orthodox group of maidens who would go forth at sundown, to try their fate. She was other than they were; out of purdah; out of caste; a being apart. And for most of them it was little more than a 'game of play.' For her--but that she kept to herself--this symbolical act of faith, this childish appeal for a sign, was a matter of life and death. So--to her chosen angle of the tank, she would go alone; and there--unwatched, save by Dewali lights of earth and heaven--she would confide her lamp to the waters and the breeze that rippled them in the first hour of darkness.

But Roy would not hear of her wandering alone in a Dewali crowd. In Dyan's absence, he claimed the right to accompany her, to be somewhere within hail. Having shed the Eastern protection of purdah, she must accept the Western protection of escort. And straightway there sprang an inspiration: he would wear his Indian dress, ready and waiting in every detail, at Sir Lakshman's house. From there, he could set out unnoticed on the Delhi adventure--which his grandfather happily approved, with what profound heart-searchings and heart-stirrings Roy did not even dimly guess.

At sundown the Residency party would drive through the city and finish up at the gardens, before going on to dine at the Palace. That would be Aruna's moment for slipping away. Roy--having slipped away in advance--would rejoin her at a given spot. And then----?

The rest was a tremulous blur of hopes and fears and the thrill of his presence, conjured into one of her own people....

Sundown at last; and the drive, in her exalted mood, was an ecstasy no possible after-pain or disappointment could dim. As the flaming tint of sunset faded and shafts of amethyst struck upward into the blue, buildings grew shadowy; immense vistas seemed to melt into the landscape, shrouded in a veil of desert dust.

Then--the first flickering points of fire--primrose-pale, in the half light; deepening to orange, as night rolled up out of the East, and the little blown flames seemed to flit along of their own volition, so skilled and swift were the invisible hands at work.

From roof to roof, from balcony to balcony they ran: till vanished Jaipur emerged from her shroud, a city transfigured: cupolas, arches, balconies, and temples, palace of the Maharaja and lofty Hall of the Winds--every detail faultlessly traced on darkness, in delicate, tremulous lines of fire. Only here and there illusion was shattered by garish globes of electric light, dimming the mellow radiance of thousands on thousands of modest chiraghs.

Aruna had seen many Dewali nights in her time; but never at a moment so charged with conflicting emotions. Silent, absorbed, she sat by Thea in the barouche; Roy and Vernon opposite; Phyllis on her mother's knee; the others in the car on ahead--including a tourist of note--outriders before and behind, clearing a pathway through the press. Vernon, jigging on his feet, was lost in wonder. Roy, like Aruna, said little. Only Thea kept up a low ripple of talk with her babe....

By now, not only the city was alight, but the enclosing hills, where bonfires laughed in flame. Jewelled coronets twinkled on bastions of the Tiger Fort. Threads of fire traced every curve and line of Jai Singh's tomb. And on either side of the carriage, the crowd swayed and hummed; laughing, jesting, boasting; intoxicated with the spirit of festival, that found an echo in Aruna's heart and rioted in her veins.

To-night she felt merged in India, Eastern to the core; capable, almost, of wondering--could she put it away from her, even at the bidding of Roy----?

On they drove, away from crowded pavements, towards the Man Sagar Lake, where ruined temples and palaces dreamed and gleamed, knee deep in the darkling water; where jackals prowled and cranes nested and muggers dozed unheeding. At a point of vantage above the Lake, they halted and sat there awhile in darkness--a group of silent shadows. Words did not meet the case. Even Vernon ceased his jigging and baby Phyllis uttered no sound: for she had fallen asleep.

Aruna, resting an elbow on the side of the carriage, sat lost in a dream....

Suddenly, electrically, she was aware of contact with Roy's coat-sleeve.

He had leaned forward to catch a particular effect, and was probably not aware of his trespa.s.sing arm; for he did not shift it till he had gazed his fill. Then with a long sigh, he leaned back again. But Aruna's dream was shattered by sensations too startingly real to be ignored....

Once, driving back, as they pa.s.sed under an electric globe, she caught his eyes on her face, and they exchanged a smile. Did he know----? Did he ever feel--like that?

Near Sir Lakshman's house they stopped again and Roy leaned towards her.

"I'll be quick as lightning--don't stir till I come," he said--and vanished.

Some fifteen minutes later, she stood alone in the jewelled darkness, awaiting him; her own flickering jewel held between her hands. She had brought it with her, complete; matches and a tiny bottle of oil, stowed in a cardboard box. Mrs Leigh--angel of goodness--had lit the wick with her own hand--'for luck.' How Roy had made her so completely their ally, she had no idea. But who could resist him,--after all? Waiting alone, her courage ebbed a little; but he came quick as lightning, arrayed in a choga of some dark material and the larger turban of the North;--so changed, she scarcely knew him till he saluted and, with a gesture, bade her go forward.

Through the dark archway, under a block of zenana buildings they pa.s.sed: and there lay before them the great tank patterned with quivering threads of light. Her chosen corner was an unfrequented spot. A little farther on, shadowy figures moved and talked.

"You see," she explained under her breath, as though they were conspirators, "if the wind is kind, it will cut across there making the mystical triangle; symbol of perfect knowledge--new birth. I am only afraid it is getting a little too strong. And if anything should hinder it from crossing, then--there is no answer. Suspense--all the time.

But--we will hope. Now, please, I must be alone. In the shadow of this building, few will notice me. Afterwards, I will call softly. But don't--go too far."

"Trust me. And--see here, Aruna, don't make too much of it--either way.

Mai Lakshmi's not Queen of all the Immortals----"

"Oh, hush! She is bride of Vishnu!"

Roy's smile was half amused, half tender. "Well! I hope she plays up--royally."

And with a formal salute, he left her.

Alone, crouching near the water's edge, she held out her c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l with its blown wisp of light.

"Oh Lamp of my life, flame of my heart," she addressed it, just above her breath, "sail safely through the wavelets and answer truly what fate awaits me now? Will Mai Lakshmi grant the blessing I crave?"

With a gentle push, she set it afloat; then, kneeling close against the building, deep in shadow, she covered her face and prayed, childish incoherent prayers, for some solution of her difficult problem that would be best, alike, for her and Roy.

But curiosity was claimant. She must see.... She must know....

Springing up, she stood near the coping, one hand on a low abutment, all her conscious being centred on the adventuring flame that swayed and curtsied at the caprice of the wind. The effect of her concentration was almost hypnotic: as if her soul, deserting her still body, flickered away there on the water; as if every threat of wind or wavelet struck at her very life....

Footsteps pa.s.sed, and voices; but the sounds scarcely reached her brain.

The wind freshened sharply; and the impact of two ripples almost capsized her chiragh. It dipped--it vanished....