The Marriage of Meldrum Strange/Chapter 13

LL CHOTA PEGU turned out in gala attire for a holiday. Lord knew there were few enough occasions, and few, too, who could afford much finery; but such as they had, and such as this was, they made the best of it. The huts yclept houses disgorged their living streams at dawn, and those in turn were swallowed in a denser stream of country-folk from surrounding villages, a trifle shy and rather sniffed at—since even Chota Pegu draws a line between the towny and the hick.

Some one had blundered, or had let the news get out, which amounted to the same thing. Ommony suspected the raja; the raja blamed it on the priests; they dropped dark hints about Chullunder Ghose; and he said nothing. But it transpired later that the man who opened up a lemonade-stand near the Panch Mahal front gate, and did a roaring trade, had to turn over the lion’s share of the profit to the babu, who financed him.

Even jugglers came, and snake-charmers from only they knew where, and performed for copper coins before the crowd, that waited patiently as Indian crowds can be depended on to do when there is entertainment.

There were even wrestlers—such artists in their craft that they would struggle for twenty minutes and tie themselves into inextricable knots of which none could guess the outcome; and they would hold that insoluble conundrum, contrary to all nature’s laws, while a small boy took up a collection; after which they would calmly unravel themselves and begin all over, working up new enthusiasm for a second offertory. And nobody ever did learn which would have won if the match had gone on to a finish.

Then there were acrobats, who could stand on one foot on top of a thin pole whose other end rested on bare earth, distorting themselves on that giddy perch into likenesses of nothing any one had ever seen. And there were beggars of course; and a man who said he was a leper, and looked it. And they all gave to the leper, although everybody knew that if he really, were one the Government would have taken him away long ago; they being charitable folk, more anxious to acquire merit than to impose it on others.

Then, about eight in the morning, every one said, “Ah-h-h!” because the elephants began to come from the direction of the temple. Lots of people got in the way and were all but trampled on, which was exciting; and they naturally laughed because they had escaped, and the rest laughed at them, so there was a great time. They had all seen elephants every day of their lives; but it is the mood you are in, not what you are looking at, that counts.

Besides: the elephants had curtained howdahs, and everybody knows what thrilling secrets that suggests. As each enormous beast padded up, swaying and looking for mischief with his trunk, there was silence to see what happened when he maneuvered into position exactly in front of the main gate, and knelt there. They all knew what would happen, but they were excited just the same.

Out stepped the most beautiful, ravishing, marvelous, jeweled and scented the world had ever seen; and all the world that knows anything at all is familiar with the fact that the temple girls of Chota Pegu are the loveliest anywhere. Are they not brought there when hardly old enough to toddle, and trained—and trained—and trained until they can not only dance all the intricate steps that the Gods used to dance in the old days when they lived on the earth among mortals, but can even look exactly like the Goddesses, whose portraits for comparison are on the temple walls?

They had all seen the nautch-girls scores of times, but it was always a new thrill; and this being a merry occasion, it led, of course, to jokes that it was a good thing the priests did not hear. Sometimes the priests know when it is wisest not to listen.

They counted nine-and-forty nautch-girls—seven times seven—a miracle-working number, portentous of good luck. And the last nautch-girl laughed aloud as she got down from the elephant, which was an omen positively. Nothing could possibly go wrong after that; there must be new amazement coming.

And there was! The raja’s elephants—the four that had to be supported from the taxes—as distinguished from the priests’ elephants, which were supported by donations, which is different. The raja was not there, but nobody minded that; the priests had called him a low-caste degenerate, and they were no doubt right, being priests, who know everything. But on the elephants’ backs were the most wonderful people they had ever seen, and nobody knew who the people were, which made it thrilling.

On the front elephant there were two ladies—great queens presumably. One was veiled heavily, but the other wore no veil at all. Her jewelry sparkled in the sun—about a crore’s worth by the most conservative estimate. She was a European queen undoubtedly, for she wore the European style of dress—or so they all supposed, for they had never seen anything like it. She was all trigged out in silver and gray, with a hat so smothered in flowers that it looked as if she must have stolen them that morning with the dew on them from the garden of the Gods. She smiled to right and left, and her smile would have melted the heart of a money-lender, it was so genial and kind and merry.

Then every one said “Ah-h-h!” again; for on the second elephant there was an emperor—no less! He wore some jewels, although not so many as the lady did; but to make up for lack of them he was robed in shimmering silver-and-golden silk. His turban was woven of silver and golden silk in alternate layers, criss-crossed up the front; and there were half a dozen ostrich-feathers stuck into a brooch in front, that would have made the King of England purple with acquisitiveness.

He was a big man—broad—up-sitting—threw his shoulders back as if he were well used to leading armies on parade. No doubt he was a great king from foreign parts or somewhere. Heavens, but he was dignified! His brow, they agreed, was like a mountain frowning down over the sea; and if he hadn’t worn a monocle in the English fashion they might have almost believed him a God. Nobody ever remembered to have seen an image of a God who wore a monocle, so that settled that. But he was wonderful.

And now another wonder! On the elephant behind him rode a plain, undignified, unvarnished English clergyman, in a plain black suit, with a white topee, mopping his face with a plain white handkerchief, and seeming unused to elephants. That was old “Begum” anyhow, a cow whose gait was always more uncomfortable than an earthquake. And serve him right! For he was one of those black-dyed rogues who, their priests had frequently assured them, are worse than all the devils in the Hindu Pantheon. They laughed to see how green his face looked; and some said he looked, too, as if he disapproved the whole proceedings, which made it even funnier.

Then, although the raja stayed away, there were several of his courtiers, who arrived in a troop on horseback; and there was a joke to be made about every one of them, because everybody knew how in debt they were and who really owned their horses if the truth were out. They let the truth out merrily. One wag swore he saw a money-lender’s name on the accoutrements, and that joke was voted so excellent that thereafter you might have trodden on folks’ toes without making them angry.

But the most surprizing marvel of all was yet to come. There had been plans whispered from lip to ear to climb the sar-trees presently and see as much as might be seen of what should take place within. The walls were high and available trees were some way off; but the glimpses so had would serve to weave gossip of for months to come.

Some boys had even gone to fetch a ladder and they had it stowed in a safe place out of sight. They even had prepared what to say to the raja’s “Poo-Bah” policeman, in case that worthy should turn up and make himself objectionable; there were lots of things that might be said, nor any very comforting to his esteem, but they chose the most scandalous, that being high festival. Whatever that irascible official might say in return, they were determined to climb file trees and remain in the branches until the show was over, or until he fetched an ax and cut the trees down, which they offered to wager he was much too lazy and dignified to do. (All Chota Pegu is willing to bet on a certainty.)

However, when the last of the court noblemen had dismounted, tossed his reins to a ragged sais, and swaggered in, the unbelievable occurred. Somebody threw the great front gate open wide and invited them all to enter and be seated! They could hardly believe their senses! True, the priests had a hand in this, and the priests were always generous providers of pageantry; dangerous folk—mean, grasping, contemptible in many ways—but always willing to let the crowd in on eye-feasts.

This, though, was a white man’s tamasha. Sahibs did not provide fun for mere village folk—at least not often, and when they did there was always a string to it, like higher taxes, or vaccination or some other scheme for impoverishing them in this world and depriving them of heaven in the next.

Everybody knew Iss-tee-range had bought the Panch Mahal, and that he had gone mad in there, shooting off his rifles at the rats at night and prowling around by day in pajamas and bare feet. Perhaps this was part of his madness.

Anyhow, there were the gates wide open, and somebody beckoning, so they all trooped in, treading on one another’s heels for fear Iss-tee-range might change his crazy mind and slam the gates in the faces of the last ones. But there was lots of room and no hurry after all.

Chullunder Ghose, perspiring and nervous to the verge of a collapse, ushered them into long rows on the side of the courtyard facing the door of the assembly-room—in which all the old scandalous debauches used to be held, which every one agreed were a disgrace to the countryside, and nobody would have missed for a year’s income if by any means he could worm a way in.

And although there was a fountain between them and the other side of the court yard they could all see nicely, because the fountain was not high, and some sort of stage had been erected, reaching nearly the full width of the courtyard with its back against the assembly-room wall. They recognized that stage; it was the one the priests used when they provided a ceremony outside the temple walls in order that all—even the very lowest castes and the caste less—might benefit.

And they knew the screens that stood at each end of the stage and in the midst in front of the assembly-room door; those were the screens the nautch-girls hid behind, to emerge for the ritual dance. They were the screens an old-time raja—a real one, not to be mentioned in the same breath with this man—had brought from Burmah; and some said they had been made in China, or some such far-away land. Whether that was true or not, they were wooden, and carved all over with delightful dragons, and no man now alive possessed the craftsmanship to fashion others like them.

In the midst of the courtyard with his back to the fountain, beside the image of a god who had four faces so that he might see everything, sat the magnificent prince with the monocle; and it was well worth a three-hour wait to sit in the sun behind him and study the set of his shoulders and see the dignity with which he smoked cigars. The princess with the diamonds and without the veil was beside him in an ordinary arm chair, and he paid her a great deal of attention—much more interesting than the antics of a leopard in a cage or any other of the sights they were used to.

After a while he complained of the sun, in a big brass voice that must have awakened the gods, because four temple attendants came and rigged up an awning over him and the princess, which rather spoiled the view of those behind him, but they overcame that by crowding closer toward the right and left.

THE princess in the dark veil was missing, and none could guess what had happened to her, which was intriguing. But “Mellidrum Iss-tee-range” with a big cigar in his mouth sat in a chair over to the left, with an enormous man beside him who was twice as big as “Ommonee,” and who somebody had said could kill an ox with one blow of his fist. Everybody hoped he would do that as part of the entertainment. He was a sahib such as everybody loved; when he spoke his voice rumbled like gun-wheels; and even the stray dog that had found its way in was not afraid to go near and sniff him.

Iss-tee-range and the big sahib were dressed in ordinary serge suits, and Iss-tee-range was smiling—as who wouldn’t be who owned all the crores and crores he was reported to own. But the big sahib looked uncomfortable, which nobody could account for. Was he not also an Amelikani? And are not all those people fabulously wealthy? Can a man be rich and anxious at the same time? Well, there he was. Behold him, fidgeting at intervals and throwing away a good cigar before he had smoked the half of it.

Then, oh! Watch! Watch! Still! Be still! Make those women hush the babies! The musicians come!

And sure enough, out from behind the screen in the midst of the stage, and down the steps in front of it, came twenty-eight members of the temple orchestra, each with his string, or wind-instrument; and then seven drummers with tom-toms, making thirty-five in all. They squatted in a long row in front of the stage and began there and then to discourse sweet music—so sweet and marvelous that it made the great brass-voiced prince from foreign parts call out.

“! Can we stick it out? By gad, by gad, by gad!”

They wondered what language that might be, but did not doubt it was applause. And so evidently the musicians understood, for they redoubled their efforts; and the princess of the sparkling diamonds sitting beside the great prince laughed until they all laughed too, they couldn’t help it. Nobody in all Chota Pegu ever had half such a wonderful time.