The Sirdar's Oath: A Tale of the North-West Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER TWENTY.

  THE MULLAH AGAIN.

  Beneath, at a distance of some thirty feet, ran a narrow alley way, andon the opposite side of this were doors. Round one of these several menwere clustered, as though gazing upon and rather enjoying something thatwas going on within. And it was from this door that those horribleshrieks and screams proceeded.

  Raynier's blood ran chill within him. What act of devilish cruelty wasgoing on within that sinister chamber? He noticed that a kind of thinsteam was issuing from the upper part of the door, wafting up a nauseousand greasy odour to where he stood. He could hear a mutter of voiceswithin the place, and a plashing sound, then the shrieks of agony brokeforth afresh louder than ever till he was forced to stop his ears.

  Still, a horrible fascination kept him riveted--his gaze fixed on thatgrisly door. What did it all mean? Then he was conscious that theyelling had ceased, and now those clustering around parted to give wayto several persons who issued from the place. Among them was a tall,fine-looking man, who had the air and importance of a chief. At himRaynier looked somewhat curiously, for he thought he was acquainted withall the Sirdars of the Gularzai. Then this man stopped, andhalf-turned, and Raynier saw dragged forth between two others a limp,quaking figure, its quivering features expressing an extremity of terrorthat was akin to mania. And in this object he recognised his quondamsmart, well-groomed--and, to all but himself, somewhat arrogant--chuprassi, Kaur Singh. This was the man they had been torturing, then.But the words of the chief told him the next moment that it was not.

  "Dog of an idolater," the latter said, "thou hast seen the torments inwhich thy brother has died, which are but the beginning of what he isnow undergoing. Wherefore, if thou wouldst preserve thy miserablecarcase a little longer I advise thee to write that which shall hurrythose who are collecting thine ill-gotten gains."

  The answer was an abject whine, and the follower of Brahma wallowed andcringed before the follower of Mahomed.

  Raynier remained rooted to the spot, gazing after the receding forms ofthose beneath. That the unfortunate Sunt Singh had just been put tosome ghastly and lingering form of death within that gruesome chamber,his brother being forced to look on, he now gathered. The motive, too,was apparent, and now he deduced that the man who had spoken must be thefar-famed Murad Afzul; and the discovery inspired him with a verygenuine misgiving on his own account. What if the Nawab and his brothernever returned? What if they were killed or captured in someengagement, and he were thus left at the mercy of this ruffian, whosebarbarities were a byword upon that border? What would be his own fate,helpless in such hands? He rejoiced now that Hilda did not share hiscaptivity, the more so that a conviction had been growing upon him thatshe must have found her way into safety. Then he remembered that MehrabKhan had learned that Murad Afzul had released Haslam and the Tarletonsfor money, which looked as though that arch-dacoit deemed it bad luck tomurder Europeans. If the worst came to the worst, he, too, might findsafety and deliverance that way.

  He turned quickly. An interruption, sudden and somewhat startling, hadbroken in upon his meditations, a most venomous curse to wit, hurled athimself. Framed in the doorway by which he himself had entered thisroof courtyard, stood a figure. The face was aged and lined, and thebeard grey and undyed. A ragged green turban crowned the head, whilethe immense hooked nose and the opening and shutting of the extendedclaw-like hands suggested some weird and exaggerated bird of prey.Raynier recognised that he had to do with some professional fanatic, a_mullah_ most likely.

  "Why dost thou curse me, father?" he said in Pushtu. "What harm have Idone thee or thine?"

  "Hear him!" cried the _mullah_. "Ya Allah! he calls me father, this sonof countless generations of infidels. Hear him, Mahomed, Prophet ofAllah ever blessed! Me, thy servant Hadji Haroun, who has three timesvisited the sacred and inviolable Temple, who has kissed the sacredStone, this unbeliever calls `father.'"

  And he spat forth a renewed and envenomed string of curses, pausing nowand again to raise his eyes heavenward, clasping and unclasping hishooked claws--and then, as though having gained new inspiration,breaking forth afresh.

  Raynier felt annoyed. He was not altogether unfamiliar with this rabidand aggressive type of fanaticism, though he had found it more amongHindu fakirs than Mahomedans. He answered shortly,--

  "I thought but to please thee, old man, but since I offended thee,though I am sorry, it might be good to depart and leave me in peace."

  At this the _mullah_ broke forth into fresh curses--but something of atumult beneath seemed to interrupt him, for with his head on one side hepaused and listened. There was a confused murmur of voices--almost aroar--mingled with the trampling of horses. Of what was going onbeneath Raynier could see nothing, nor did he care to turn his back--forlonger than the briefest of glances--upon the fanatical _mullah_.

  "In peace!" repeated the latter, echoing his last words. "In peace!Here is he who will give thee peace, O infidel dog. Now will the bloodof Allahyar Khan--whom the Prophet console in Paradise--be avenged."

  "I know not of what thou art talking, old man," returned Raynier,shortly. "Thy curses matter not greatly, but if thou namest me `dog'again I will throw thee over yon parapet even though thou hadst visitedthe sacred and inviolable Temple thirty times instead of three."

  At these words the other uttered a wild, shrill yell, and turning fleddown the stairs crying that the Feringhi dog was insulting the tomb ofthe Prophet and threatening one who had kissed the sacred Stone--andRaynier began to realise that he had made a grave mistake in losing histemper with this old fool, whom he should have allowed to abuse him tillto-morrow morning rather than give him any pretext for raising thefanatical hatred of these fierce and easily-roused tribesmen in whosepower he was. It was too late now, for already there was an approachinghubbub on the stairs and several of them rushed in, their fiercecountenances blazing with wrath. But that their weapons were undrawnRaynier would have expected to be cut to pieces. As it was they flungthemselves upon him, and he was dragged and hustled to the door, anddown the stairs--along passages and through doorways, with incredibleforce and rapidity. Totally unarmed, and weakened by his recentillness, resistance was out of the question. He supposed his time hadcome and that he was being dragged to his death.

  They had halted. He was in a large open courtyard, surrounded by thedoors of dwellings built apparently into high walls, except on thefurther side, which was constituted by a solid cliff face, towering uphigh overhead. This he took in at a glance, but what was more to thepoint, the place was full of armed men, and there in the midst wasMushim Khan.

  The Nawab and his brother had just dismounted from horseback, and afollower was leading away their steeds, fine animals showing blood andmuscle in every movement. In spite of the rough and undignifiedtreatment of which he had just been a victim Raynier was mindful of thedignity of his high office, and his attitude and tone were not lackingin this when, having waited for the buzz which greeted his appearance tosubside, he gave the chief's the salaam.

  To his surprise and inward dismay, neither replied. They stoodcontemplating him in stern and hostile silence. He felt utterlynonplussed, especially having regard to the good treatment andhospitality which had been extended to him hitherto. Ah! the _mullah_of course. That was it. He had been stirring up their fanaticalanimosity, and once touch that you never know where you are with anOriental. There was the old villain over there, glaring at him with hisbeady eyes.

  "There has been a mistake, Nawab Sahib," began Raynier, perfectly cooland collected.

  "Yon holy man declares I spoke against the Prophet and his tomb, but itis not so. You who know me are aware I am not one to do any such thing.The _mullah_ is quite mistaken."

  But the stern hostility on the countenances of the chiefs relaxed notone atom--that upon those of their followers deepened, and mutterings ofhate rumbled forth from the rows of grim and shaggy faces whichencompassed him. Sinewy fingers instinctiv
ely tightened round swordhilts and rifle locks. Raynier went on,--

  "Believers, although of another creed, we are all the children of oneFather, for such is the teaching of the Prophet as revealed to him andset forth in the Holy Koran. And I have seen enough of the followers ofthe Prophet to respect their faith, and never have I uttered wordagainst that faith--no, not even now. But yon _mullah_ cursed me andnamed me dog--me, the representative of the _Sirkar_. Should I acceptthat meekly, think you?"

  But all the reply that this drew was a deeper and renewed execration.

  "What of Allahyar Khan?" hissed the _mullah_ at the chief's side. "Whatof the Sirdar Allahyar Khan?"

  The effect upon the Nawab was as that of a sting. Yet he spoke coldly,as though striving to suppress the rage that consumed him.

  "Answer me, Raynier Sahib. Was General Raynier Sahib, who commandedtroops at the time of the great rising thy father?"

  "Surely, Nawab Sahib. But that is a long past and forgotten misfortune.Why revive it?"

  "And he commanded the troops that came to Grampur after it had beenreconquered?"

  It was impossible but that Raynier's natural perceptions, let alone hisexperience of Orientals, should have failed to convince him that here,and not in any tale told by the _mullah_, lay the secret of MushimKhan's changed attitude towards him. Some of their people had beenkilled at that time, was the solution, and this rascally _mullah_ hadstirred up the recollection. He knew how the blood feud can be tossedon from generation to generation among these mountain tribes. Still,there was only one answer possible.

  "I believe he did, Nawab Sahib," he answered. "But why rake up thesedead and buried tales of strife?"

  "Dead and buried!" yelled Hadji Haroun, clasping and unclasping hisclaws. "Ya Mahomed! hear him. Dead and buried! What of AllahyarKhan--what of the dog who sent him defiled to his death, the father ofthis dog standing here?"

  Then for the first time Raynier realised the imminence of his peril, forhe saw that no common incident in the fortune of war lay behind this.The noble expression of the Nawab's countenance had disappeared, givingway to one of hate and cruelty, and the same held good of that of hisbrother, Kuhandil Khan. A roar of execration arose from the close ranksof the Gularzai, and tulwars were drawn, and flashed in the sun. MushimKhan turned, and in an undertone gave directions to some of thosenearest to him. These advanced upon Raynier.

  "There is no need to lay hands upon me, Chief of the Gularzai," he criedin a firm tone. "I am in your power, you who have professed friendshipfor me. Say what your will is."

  But Mushim Khan answered no word. Raynier was seized and violentlydragged away, a roar of execration and hate going up from the gathering,and, rising above it, he could distinguish the high, venomous tones ofthe _mullah_, shrilling forth,--

  "The blood of Allahyar Khan! The blood of Allahyar Khan! Now will itbe avenged. Ya Mahomed! Now! Now!"