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AT MA.

A romance:

, A. C. F.

*• When atman Cnom. sing. Atma) occurs in philosophical treatises
• • • • • it has generally been translated by soul, mind, or spirit
I tried myself to use one or other of these words, but the oftener 1
employed them the more I felt their inadequacy, and was driven at
ast to adopt • • • SeJf as the least liable to misunderstanding."
Max Muller, in North Amoica,, Rcviciv for Jmie, 1879.

Montreal :

JOHN LOVELL .1' SON,

23 St. Nicholas Sikket.

Entered accordiiiji: to Act of Parliament in the year 1891,
by JohnLovell & Son, in tlio olHeo of the Minister of Agri-
culture and Statistics at Ottawa.

T^m

4 T ¥ i

1891,
Agri-

CHAPTER I.

O that Decay were always beautiful !

How soft the exit of the dying day,

The dying season too, its disarray

Is gold and scarlet, hues of gay misrule,

So it in festive cheer may pass away ;

Fading is excellent in earth or air.

With it no budding April may compare.

Nor fragrant June with long love-laden hours;

Sweet is decadence in the quiet bowers

Where summer songs and mirth are fallen asleep,

And sweet the woe when fading violets weep.

O that among things dearer in their wane
Our fallen faiths might numbered be, that so
Religions cherished in their hour of woe
Might linger round the god-deserted fane,

6 A7'MA.

And worshippers be loath to leave and pray
That old-time power return, until there may
Issue a virtue, and the faith revive
And holiness be there, and all the sphere
Be filled with happy altars where shall thrive
The mystic plants of faith and hope to bear

Immortal fruitage of sweet charity ;

For I believe that every piety,

And every thirst for truth is gift divine,

The gifts of God are not to me unclean

Though strangely honoured at an unknown shrine.

In temples of the past my spirit fain

For old-time strength and vigour would implore

As in a ruined abbey, fairer for

" The unimaginable touch of time "

We long for the sincerity of yore.

But this is not man's mood, in his regime

Sweet " calm decay " becomes mischance unmeet,

And dying creeds sink to extinction,

Hooted, and scorned, and sepultured in hate.

Denied their rosary of good deeds and boon

Of reverence and holy unction —

First in the list of crimes man writes defeat.

These purest tlreams of this our low estate,
White-robed vestals, fond and vain designs,
1 lay a wreath at your forgotten shrines.

ATMA.

Nearly four hundred years ago, Nanuk, a man of
a gentle spirit, lived in the Punjaub, and taught that
God is a spirit. He enunciated the solemn truth that
no soul shall find God until it be first found of Him.
This is true religion. The soul that apprehends it
readjusts its affairs, looks unto God, and quietly
waits for Him. The existence of an Omnipresent
Holiness was alike the beginning and the burden of
his theology, and in the light of that truth all the
earth ijecame holy to him. His followers abjured
idolatry and sought to know only the invisible things
of the spirit. He did not seek to establish a church ;
the truths which he knew, in their essence discoun-
tenance a visible semblance of divine authority,
and Nanuk simply spoke them to him who would
hear, — emperor or beggar, — until in 1540 he went
into that spiritual world, which even here had been
for him the real one.

And then an oft-told story was repeated ; a band
of followers elected a successor, laws were necessary
as their number increased, and a choice of particular
assembling places became expedient. And as

8 A TMA.

" the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, "

SO the laws passed into dogmas having equal
weight with the truths that Nanuk had delivered,
and the places became sacred.

Nanuk's successors were ten, fulfilling a prophecy
which thus limited their number. The compilation
of their sayings and doings to form a book which as
years went on was venerated more and more, and
the founding of Oomritsur, chief of their holy places,
were the principal things that transpired in the his-
tory of the Khalsa during a century and a half, save
that the brotherhood was greatly strengthened by
Moslem persecution, occurring at intervals.

But with the death of the ninth gooroo, by Moslem
violence, and the accession of his son Govind, the
worldly fortunes of the Khalsa changed. Under the
leadership of Govind, a young man of genius and
enthusiasm, who comes before us in the two-fold
character of religionist and military hero, the Sikhs
moved on to a national greatness not dreamed of by
Nanuk. Govind, who bestowed on himself and his
followers the title of Singh, or lion-hearted, hitherto

A TMA.

an epithet appropriated in this connection by the
Rajpool nobility, devoted the stronc^ eneri^ies of his
vigourous and daring nature to the purpose of estab-
Hshing tlie faith of Nanuk by force of arms. To this
end he constituted the sword a reh'gious symbol, and
instituted a sort of uorshi[) of steel. The Khalsa
became an a^irressive force bent on tlie salvation of
surrounding nations by violence, and succeeded so
well, that, eighty-five years after Govind's death, the
Sikhs, still retaining their character of a religious fel-
lowship, were consolidated into a powerful nation
under Runject Singh. The dream of her tenth
and last gooroo was realized, the Khalsa was at her
height of worldly prosperity, but her life was no
longer the spirit life which had been revealed to her
first founder.

And so under Asiatic skies as well as amid Euro-
pean civilization, man laboured to redeem the world,
making frantic war on the lying creeds of past ages
and proclaiming the merits of his latest discovery.

It is a strange development of human nature
this animosity to creeds no longer our own. Why, if
I suffer the loss of faith and hope, must I hasten
to introduce my brother to my satl plight ? I may

ATMA,

do SO, and perhaps enjoy good conscience in the act
by vaunting that I shed light on his spiritual vision.
God help my brother if his light be from me. And
God help me also, if I have attained so high rank
among the blessed before I have learned that the
human soul is beyond human aid ; that in its eternal
relations each soul travels in an orbit of its own and
holds correspondence only with its Sun,

A TMA.

CHAPTER II.

A CENTURY and a half after Govind Sinrrh had
kindled the hearts of his countrymen with his pro-
phetic visions of a military church regnant on the
hills of Kashmir, there took place the struggle which
we call the second Sikh war, culminating on the
twenty-first of February in the Battle of Gugerat
followed by the surrender c. the Sikhs to the l^ritish
under Lord Gough and the disbandment of the
Sikh army. And, lo, the Khalsa vas , , a tale that
is told, its clang and clash of warlike ach "vements a
thing that could be no more, its Holy War trans-
formed by failure into a foolish chiino'-a, and the
only thing that lived was .. memory lingeri.ig \
quiet souls of the truths that Nanuk taught.

" For shapes that come, not at an earthly call,
Will not depart when mortal voices bid."

But many whose faith was in their religion rather
than in God felt their spirit falter, and believed that
the universe grew dark. This is ever the weakness

A 7 MA.

of disciples, and thus it is that while many flocking
to the new standard sec all thin<^s made plain, others
whose hopes are entwined about the displaced creeds
suffer an eclipse of faith.

Amoncr those who in the fall of the Khalsa suffered
life's last and sorest loss was Race Sinr^h, an ac^ed
man, in whose veins ran the blood of the gentle
Nanuk. On that March morninfj^ when the disbanded
army went to lay down their arms before a victorious
foe, he descended the mountain slope very slowly.
The rest walked in bands of five, of ten, of twenty,
but Race Singh walked alone. Although his flowing
beard was white, he did not bear himself erect in the
dignity of years; his eyes were fixed on the ground,
for the shadow of defeat and dishonour which rested
on him was hard to bear.

Presently he stood before the tent of the British
general. A great heap of weapons lay there glitter-
ing in the sun. As he looked, the pile grew larger,
for each Sikh cast his sword there. Race also ex-
tended his arm, grasping his tulwar, but Ik did not
let it go until an officer touched his shoulder and
si)oke. The blade fell then with a clang, and he
turned away. He passed from the camp without

A 7 MA.

secinc^ it, and took his homeward way as silently as
he had come. The dreams of youth make the habit
of age, and Raee had revered the Khalsa in child-
hood, and in manhood he had urged its high com-
mission to his own hurt. As a Khivan pro\'erb has
it, ** That which goes in with the milk only goes out
with the soul," and the soul of Raee Singh gathered
the fragments of its broken faith and prepared to
depart with them to the Land of Restoration.

He lay for four days, taking no food, and only wet-
ting his lips with the water which his sole surviving
son proffered from time to time. His lieart was
crushed, he was full of years, his end was near ; and
his son, knowing this, was dumb witii sorrow. On the
evening of the fourth day he turned his face to the
boy, and spoke,

" Son, well beloved,
My parting hour is nigh ;
A heavenly peace should glorify

A life approved
By God, by man, by mine own soul ;
The record of my stainless years unroll —

My years beset
l^'rom infancy to age with i)itfalls deep

ATM A.

In pathway winding aye on mountain steep

Of perilous obedience, and yet
In bitterness of soul I lay me down,
Of home bereft, with hope and creed o'erthrown

In woe that will not weep \
My reeling spirit ere from sense set free
Is loosed from mooring, beaten to and fro.
And in the throbbing, quick'ning flesh I know

The lone desertion of the Shoreless Sea.
O Brotherhood !

O hope so high, so fair,
That would the wreck of this sad world repair

Had ye but stood !

Can God foriret ?
This Khalsa of his own supreme decree
Vanquished, debased, in loss of liberty

Has lost its own mysterious entity.

And yet, and yet,
A strange persuasion fills my breast that He

Who wrecked my home,
Who bade my people from their mountains flee

And friendless roam,
Will soon with tenderest pity welcome me,

And, if my lips be dumb,
Will frame the prayer that fills my dying breast.
And give my heavy-laden si)irit rest.
And grant me what He will — His will is best.

A7MA.

I c^o — I know not wlicrc,
Upward or down, or toward the scttinir sun
None knows, — some shadowy cjoal is won,

Some unseen issue near.
So oft with death I journeyed hand in hand,
The spectral pageant of his border land

I do not fear.

Weep not when I have passed, but c;o thy way,
Thou art not portionless nor service free,
A warrior Sikh, for thee a hic^h behest
Abides, to claim thy true sword's ministry.
Go, Atma, from those echoing hillsides, lest
The haunting voices of the vanished say
' Vain is thy travail, poor thine utmost store.
We loved and laboured, lo, we are no more,'
And thy fond heart in fealty to our clay
Fail in allegiance to the name we bore.
Go, seek thy kinsman, to a brother's hand
I gave possession of a gem more fair,
More costly far than gold, than rubies rare,
Thy part and heritage, of him demand
Its just bestowal, and with dauntless tread
Pursue the pathway of thy holy dead."

When tile old Sikh had ceased speaking, he lay
greatly exhausted. The night deepened. It was a

^JTMA.

It>

remote spot. Now and then the sound of trampling
feet or the tread of a horse climbin"; the difficult
road reached the ear. The hours were long and
dreary, but they passed. Morning dawned, and Atmfi
found himself alone. He had known that it would
be so, and yet it came with the sharpness of an un-
expected blow. He mourned, and, as is the way
with mourners, he accused himself from hour to hour
of having failed in duty to the departed during his
lifetime. Looking on the face of the dead, he won-
dered much where the spirit that so lately had
seemed to be with the frame but a s'lgle identity, one
and indivisible, had fled. He recalled his father's
words,

'■ Upward or clown, or toward the setting sun,
None knows,"

and with the recollection, the sense of loss deepened.
An old cry rose to his lips, " Oh, that I knew where
I miijht find him ! "

The words by which his father had sought to com-
fort him still sounded in his hearing, but Grief is
stronger than Wisdom. Human speech is the least
potent of forces, and arguments that clash and clang

// TMA.

bravely in the tournament of words, slayinrr sha-
dows, and planting the flag of triumph over fallen
fancies, on entering the lists to combat the fact of
Death, but beat the air, and their lusty prowess only
fetches a laugh from out of the silence.

ATM A.

Jil
'ii

CHAPTER III.

After his father's death Atnui betook himself to
Lahore, where dwelt Lehna Singh, only brother of
the departed Sikh. A man of a totally different cast
of mind, he had early adopted a commercial life,
and now, in the enjoyment of a vast fortune, yet un-
diminished by the contingencies of war, lived in
luxury and opulence, his dwelling thronged by
Sikhs whose possessions, unlike his own, had melted
away in the national catastrophe. The fact of his
house being the rendezvous of a discontented faction
did not escape British vigilance, the more so as
Lehna Singh was one of the eight sirdars appointed
to sit in council with the British Resident. But the
confidence of his countrymen in him remained un-
shaken by the appearance among them of British
envoys in military state, bearing despatches to the
friend of the national foe, and the questionable atti-
tude of Lehna became to the Resident daily more
and more the subject of suspicious surmisings.

ATMA.

Indeed, a whisper was afloat of secret messages from
Feragpore, whither, before the war, had been removed
the Ranee Junda Kovr, deposed Queen of the Pun-
jaub, as a consequence of a detected plot ai^ainst the
Hfe of the Resident, which, together with her suUied
reputation, — for she had many lovers, — had induced
the council to pronounce her an unfit guardian for the
little Maharajah, her son. This clever woman, a
constant source of vexation to the Resident, had long
forfeited the respect of friend and foe ; but her intre-
pidity, cunning, and unscrupulous thirst for power
conspired to render her formidable to the one, and
to the other a partisan to be courted and retained.
Her messages of insolent defiance to the Durbar are
historic, but of the countless schemes and intrigues
in which she continued to play the part of chief con-
spirator we have only heard a portion. Suffice it to
say that the faithlessness of her policy alike towards
adversary, or ally, and the scandal of her retinue of
lovers, had gained for her an ill-repute, that combined
with the watch set upon her movements by the
British to render men chary of dealings with the little
court at Feragpore, where she held mimic state.

A TMA.

I''
ji

jili

i :;; I

111

V i

'" !

But of all these talcs of craft and crime Atma
knew nothing. To him all men were valiant and all
women fair and good, and the wife and child of
Runjeet Singh, the Lion of the Punjaub, were in-
vested in his fond imaginings with ideal excellence.
" To the pure all things are pure," or, as a later
genius has voiced it, " He who has been once good
is forever great," and Atma lived in the corrupt
atmosphere of his uncle's house, and took no hurt ;
nay, his spiritual life by its own dynamic force grew
and thrived, for, governed by other laws than those
that control our physical natures, the food of the
soul is what it desires it to be, and moral poison has
oOen served for nutriment. It is death to souls that
desire death. In another sense than Bonaparte's,
every man born unto the world may say, *' 1 make
circumstances."

And the spacious abode of Lehna Singh had love-
liness enough to veil the sordid character of the life
that was lived within its walls. Atma had not been
ignorant of his kinsman's wealth and importance ;
but it is one thing to hear of wealth and to ponder
in critical mood the fleetinp nature of this world's

I %

A TMA.

weal, and quite another to gaze with the eye on the
marvellous results of human thrift. He wandered
throui^h lofty and spacious apartments, whose marble
arches seemed ever to reveal a fairer scene than had
yet met his view. A mimic rivulet ran from room to
room in an alabaster channel, and the spray of per-
fumed fountains cooled the air. Flowers bloomed,
leafy vines trailed over priceless screens, and count-
less mirrors repeated the joyous beauty of the place.
He beheld with admiration the gilded and fretted
walls and stately domes, the new delights of a palace
charmed every sense, and, appealing to poetic fancy,
awoke a rapture whose fervency was due less to the
entrancement of his present life than to the contem-
plative habit of one who had first known harmony
whilst gazing on the stars, and awaked to the con-
sciousness of beauty among the eternal hills. The
ripple of the streamlet in these palace halls revived a
half-forgotten music of the heart that had once re-
sponded to the gurgle of a brook.

'• Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.''

The sympathies that had once been in unison with
the rustling thicket stirred into more definite life

ATM A.

Il'i:

1 'I

1 1
ll I

when an artificial breeze swept by and stirred the
heavy foliage of rare plants. He ^ad caught in other
days notes of Nature's vast melody. Stray notes
were here made to beat to a smaller measure. Thus
Art interprets Nature. It was not The Song, but a
light and pleasant carol, which pleased the sense of
many, and to the ear of the few brought a haunting
pain of which they did not know the meaning. Such
a one only sighed and said :

" In a former birth I was great and good, and my
life was sublime. The ghost of its memory has
touched me."

O melody divine, of fantasy
And frenzied mem'ry wrought, advance
From out the shades ; O spectral utterance,
Untwine thy chains, thy fair autocracy

Unveil, have being, declare
Thy state and tuneful sovereignty.

til^

Ye gifted ears,
To whom this burdened, sad creation
Sings, now in tones of exultation

Abruptly broken,
Anon in direst lamentation

Obscurely spoken,

ATM A.

j!S

Possess your souls in hope, the time

Is coming when tli' harmonic chime

Of circling spheres in chant sublime

Will lead the music of tlie seas,

And call the echoes of the breeze

To one triumphal lay
Whose harmony, whose heavenly harmony

Sounding for aye
In loud and solemn benedicite,
Voices the glory of the Central Day,
And throujrh th' illimitable realms of air

Is borne afar
In wafted echoes that the strain prolong
Through boundless space, and countless worlds among^
Meas'ring the pulsing of each lonely star,
And sounding ceaselessly from sphere to sphere

That note of immortality
That whispers in the sorrow of the sea,
And in the sunrise, and the noonday's rest,
And triumphs in the wild wind's meek surcease,
And in the sad soul's yearning unexpressed,
And unexpressivc for perpetual peace.

But the loveliest of Lehna Singh's possessions was
Moti, his daughter and only child, the fame of whose
beauty had even reached Atma in Jiis mountain
home. Of her he had dreamt through boyhood's

ATMA.

years, and a happy consciousness of her proximity
foreshadowed the enchanted hour when he was to
behold her and own that his fondest fancies were to
her loveliness as darkness to noonday. Her name
he had heard whispered in the gay throng of her
father's guests, on the memorable first evening of his
arrival there ; but, strange to tell, next day, when
these first hours in a palace seemed to his excited
imagination a dream in which mingled in wildest
confusion the glitter of diamonds, the perfume of a
thousand flowers, the revel of dazzling colors, the
bewildering music of unknown instruments, and the
intoxication of wonder and bliss, there rang through
all only one articulate voice, sounding as if from
some leafy ambush amid vague laughter and mur-
murs of speech, saying :

" But I tell you that Rajah Lai Singh means to
pluck the rose of Lehna Singh's garden ! "

A 7 MA.

CHAPTER IV.

Atma loved to wander apart. One day he pene-
trated to a secluded court, whose beauty and silence
charmed him more than anything he had hitherto
seen. It was Moti's garden.

■' High in air the fountain flung
Its Hving gems, on sunbeams strung
They wreathed and shook the mists among ;
A thousand roses audience held,
For floral state the place was meet.
With blissful light and joy replete,
And depths of sweetness unrevealed.

Glittered and sparkled the revelling spray,
Swelled and receded its silvery lay,
Rustled the roses in fervid array.
In fragrance declaring their costly acclaim,
Wafting on soft winds the redolent fame
Of fantasy, fountain, and tuneful refrain.

Joy, Happiness, and Bliss had here
Alighted when from Eden driven,

ATMA.

Poor wanderers of far other sphere

They languished for their native heaven ;

And lingering they glamoured all the place,

The flowers bloomed in airs of Paradise,

That lulled the days to dreams of changeless peace.

No marvel were it if to mortal eyes

This garden seemed the threshold of the skies.

' i; '

l^ut fountain and roses and glittering spray,
Ambrosial converse and redolent lay
Saddened and dimmed in the radiant dny,
Unbroken the yellow sunbeams streamed,
As ever the flashing jewels gleamed.

Hut a shadow fell

And a silent spell
In homage of one who was fairer than they.

ill

And who was the despot whose wondrous array

Of tyrant charms thus over-wrought

With hues of soft aumility

The joys of this enchanting spot >

There stood she, envied of the closing day,

Loved by the evening star,

Moti, than costliest jewel of Cathay

More rare and lovelier far.

ATM A.

Weep balmy tears,
O dear white Rose, and tell to ain'rous airs
They waste their sweetness on thy charms, and chic! 2
Their linf^^'rinc^ dalliance, o'er the whole world wide
Bid them on buoyant morning wings to move,

And whisper " Love ; "
Fair winds, be tender of her blissful name,
On soft yEolian strings weave dainty dream.

Let but the dove
Hear a faint echo of her happy name ;

But tell her worth,
Say that at sight of her the evening dies

Upon the earth.
And bees and little flower bells still their mirth
And jasmines whisp'ring of her starry eyes.

And Atma spoke, with love and wonder bold,
*' Tread I the valley where the fadeless vine
Drops dew immortal and sweet spices grow
From fragrant roots which in that blessed mould,
Watered by tears of penitential woe.
Drank deep of primal peace and balm divine,
When in the morn of time the tale was told
Of forfeit happiness and ruined shrine ?
Tell me, O beauteous Spirit of the bowe<-,
Is it thy gentle task when others sleep,

ATM A.

\\ I

1 !

To guard all that a fallen world may keep
Of pristine bliss and lost felicities,
The fragrant memory of a purer hour,
The healinty aroma of Paradise ? "

Sweet then the blushing maid replied,

" Among the roses I abide,

I wake the bird, I watch the bee,

No greater toil is set for me ;

But tell me, pray thee, with what charge indued

You wander in this quiet solitude."

And Atma spoke with joyful fervency,
" I hither came on embassy unguessed,
Most blissful vision of my raptured view,
The dusk delights of quietness and rest
Desired I, nor thought to bid adieu
To all content my fond heart ever knew.

Descending angels of my wisest dreams,

Ye kindly genii, bending from above,

Say, in th'allotment of my life's high themes,

Were hours left for love }
A great design and just my soul employs,
Can high resolve and tranced rest agree .-*
Or is there aught than loss in changeful joys
Of mortal love, most mortal in its wane

Which I shall see
And call aloud, ' O Love/ in vain, in vain."

A TMA.

" l^loomy roses die,
Sunbeams have no morrow,
Sweetest songs give place to sigh,
Ah, the speechless sorrow.
Pain of by- and -bye.

I too well have known
Gladness lives a-dvinfj
Joys are often prized when flown,
Loved when past replying,
Sought when left alone.

Sad when roses pine,
Ah, but love is dearer,
Who would dare to quaff this wine
Knowing Fate the bearer,
Guileful fate of mine t

Moti, peerless flower,
Queen of love and gladness,
Tell me in this happy hour,
Will Joy turn to sadness.

And Love's death-night lower.?"

<< »i

Moti, wise as lovely, pondered,
'Mong the sunbeams I have wandered,
With the flowers friendship made;
Sweetest blossoms wither,

! ■ I

! 1

30 ATM A.

liut alike they fade,
Roses die together,

Beauteous death is made.

Comrades e'en in death are flowers,
Always sweet are friendship's bowers.

Lightly sorrow touches twain,
Only solitude is pain."

,li^i I

:ti:!

il I ' r, 1

i; I

Mild were the utterings of the cooing dove,

Who did approve
In myrtle ambuscade this tender lore;
The constant plashing of the fountain spray
Melted in easy numbers, dying away
A quiet cadence, while for evermore
Faded the eve in richest livery wove
Of Tyrian dyes and amber woof t'allure
The soft salaam of slowly sinking day.

Stars shone, and Atma said, " 'Tis well to be,
The things of earth are painted pleasantly."

But pleasantness is light and versatile,
And moods must change and tranquil breezes veer,
And o'er this blissful hour there came a chill
And sullen shadows slowly creeping near

';'- 1

A TMA.

veer,

In lengthening lines, and murkier dusk took form

Of all things ominous, disastrous, ill,

And as a mid -day gloom portending storm,

A lowering fate made prophecy of fear.

And Atma knew the menace in the air,

As ghostly shudderings of our fearful life

Foretell the advent of th' assassin's knife.

Low sank his heart before the augury

(For life was dearer on this eventide

Than e'er before), and all dismayed, he cried,

" These are the heralds of calamity

That bid me hence, for all too well I know

The pensive pageantry of mortal woe ;

O Love, my Love, this sweetest love may flee

Ikit ever grief has cruel constancy.

Late I bode me with dull-shrouded sorrow.

And well I know her doleful voice again.

Hark ! the breezes from the nightshade borrow

A heavy burden of lament and pain,

And where Delight held lately sweet hey-day,

Now like spectres pallid moonbeams pla)',

Very still the little rosebud sleeps.

Heavily the drooping myrrh tree weeps

Sluggish tears upon the darksome mould."

Quick then did Moti speak, by love made bold,
" No cause is there, O Love, for sad affriglu.
For I have read the portents of the night ;

ATM A.

Of envy dies the glowworm when the moon
Is worshipped in the welkin, and the boon

Of costly tears
Dropped by the bleeding tree, to mortal cares

Is healing balm ;
The rosebuds dream, Love, and the soft wind's sigh

Is lullaby.
And yet I know that sorry things befal

Sometimes, withal.
For once it was my grievous task to mourn
A turtle-dove sore wounded l)y a thorn."

t'.W

:i II

" O sweetest Dove,
May grief be far from thee.
Who lovcst sorrow when thou lovest me ;

But changeful love
May yet be fixed by grief no more to rove.
And we by woe be bound in constancy.
O Roses, bear me witness of my truth.
Death with my love were life a thousand-fold,
Dear death were fairer than immortal youth
Could it life's weal in friendly arms enfold.
Dark Angel of the River's brink, draw near,
In stable grasp this sovereign hour assure,
Cast icy glamour o'er my love's sweet cheer,
Forever then shall that dear love endure,
An end of sweets fair Chance may hold in store

^1 TM. I .

.>.>

Were death of all the chanceful moods of time,
And boundless being of my love's sweet prime.

Ah, thorny Roses, prate ye still of ruth
And would me my brief hour of bliss deny ?
And yet all happy things to love are sooth,
But I, ah me, this destiny so high
Weighs on my spirit like a drowsy spell,
I cannot joy like those, nor stay, I fail
Before the greatness of my high behest,
Ah, high is holiness, but love is rest,
Yes, love is rest, is rest ; then blow, sweet gale
Of soft forgetfulness about me still,
And O, ye Roses, balmy breath exhale
And all my consciousness with slumber fill.

And, O sweet Love, I pray you yield me now

One little pearl from the fair coronal

That crowns the loveliness of that calm brow,

And I, where'er I be, will own its thrall.

And gaze on it and dream until I see

A phantom love, before whom I shall fall

And pray, adoring white-robed purity."

ATMA.

I i

CHAPTER V.

\ I

I ;

I 1

^' Your lofty faith and devotion, my son, move me
deeply. The heroic spirit of my brother Raee seems
once more to incite me to deeds of daring which in
these degenerate days would alas be vain."

So spoke Lehna Singh in the midst of luxury and
splendour that had been amassed in no hazardous
career of adventure or enterprise, but by methods of
coldest calculation and avarice. His listeners were
his nephew, whom he addressed, and the Rajah Lai
Singh, chief favourite of the notorious Ranee, a man
of cringing and servile demeanour, notwithstanding
his rank, whose crafty smile followed the speaker's
words as he scrutinized the countenance of Atma, as
if to learn their effect. The apartment in which they
sat was an inner chamber, small, secluded, and
silent, for the fame of Lai, lately Wuzeer to the little
Maharajah, but for grave offences disgraced and re-
moved from Lahore, was such as to demand caution
on the part of those who would consort with him.

ATM A.

re-

[lon

" Before I can explain to you," proceeded Lehna,
" the last words of my departed brother, I have a
tale to unfold, a tale which will reveal to you in
how high a degree your coming has been opportune.
In these troubled days a loyal, brave, and trusty
friend of the Khalsa is far to seek, and it is in quest
of such a one that my honoured guest Rajah Lai
Singh has, in the face of much peril, come to me from
the Maharanee, now at Feragpore, whither she was
sent by Purwunnah, under seal of her infant son, the
Maharajah, thus made in tender years the instru-
ment of his mother's disgrace. But on the cruel
affronts of our enemies I need not dwell. These
things are known to all. The plans which I am about
to reveal to you, Atma Singh relate to the future,
and speak not of disgrace, but of hope; know that in
the treasures of Runjeet Singh there was one jewel
— a sapphire — of magical property. To its holder it
ensured success in war. This jewel, the late. Mahar-
ajah received from my hands. It was a family heir-
loom, and descended to your father, the eldest son
of our house, through countless generations. Being,
when we were both young, in sore straits, and hard
pressed for money, he parted with this talisman to

ATMA.

!■

•I

me, on condition that after his death I should return
it to his eldest surviving son. You may guess the
poignancy of the grief with which I tell you then
that this heirloom is no longer mine. Many years
ago I gave it into the hands of Runjeet Singh for a
time, in the belief that its potency would aid our
national fortunes " (what equivalent Lehna received,
he doubtless deemed it irrelevant to state). " The
brilliancy of his career attests its worth. It should
have been long ago restored to me, but my efforts to
regain it were repeatedly baffled, until I was fain to
content myself with the reflection that at least it
served the cause, and to trust in the future for its
recovery. Believing it to be in the treasury at La-
hore, and firmly believing in its potency, those of us
who knew of its existence never abandoned hope
until its disappearance was, alas! ascertained beyond
a doubt. To such, each defeat of the Khalsa caused
amazement deeper than consternation. The over-
throw of the Sikh power seemed a thing incredible
until the recent confiscation and plunder of the
treasuries, when it became certain to other vigilant
onlookers as well as to myself that the Sapphire of
Fate was not in the possession of the true rulers of

ATMA.

irn

the

hen

ears

Dr a

our

ived,

The

lould

rts to

lin to

ast it
ir its

It La-
of us
hope
:yond
laused
over-
idible
f the
ksilant
[lire of
ilers of

the Punjaub at the time of their downfall. Contrast
the victorious progress of the Lion of the Punjaub
with the fallen fortunes of his family, when robbed of
what we now believe to be the talisman of his for-
tunes. Not only docs the Ranee believe that the
recovery of this gem will ensure the prosperity of the
descendants of Runjeet Singh, but I do firmly be-
lieve that its re-possession will rally the Sikh forces
to form again a conquering faith. Son of Race, have
you the courage to serve the Ranee, to regain this,
your inheritance, and in obedience to your father's
dying words, to devote it and your own life to a
fallen house, whose foes are the foes of the Khalsa } "
Atma remained silent during some minutes, plunged
in thought, and unconscious of the anxious scrutiny
of his companions, who, bending forward, awaited his
reply in breathless suspense. It was a shock to know
that the heritage which was certainly his had passed
from the guardianship of the kinsman to whom it had
been entrusted, and indignation mingled with gentler
reflections. He had not known the story of the
Sapphire, and his thoughts reverted to his father, the
meaning of whose reticence on a subject, which must
have been full of humiliation and pain, his son sadly

ATMA.

divined, and recalling his dying words, indelibly
printed on his memory, he felt his high commission
to be again renewed and vivified. Perhaps the
gentle image of Moti, ever present to fond imagina-
tion, dispelled the rising clouds of distrust and resent-
ment, and bade him meet her father's demand with
response of like spirit. So now recalling the ingenu-
ous emotion which had glowed in his face during
Lehna's tragic account of the recent career of Junda
Kowr, he asked where the Sapphire of Fate was to
be found.

" At the Court of Golab Singh," replied his uncle,
dramatically. " Golab Singh, once a horseman in the
employ of Runjeet Singh, now by British machina-
tions usurper of the crown of Kashmir. If you,
Atma, are a true and faithful adherent of the Khalsa,
you will thither repair as an envoy of the Maharanee,
and will count her reward lightly won by danger
encountered for the faith."

"Inform her highness of my instant readiness to
perform her request," replied Atma.

Happiness overspread the countenance of x^ehna.
With a gentle sigh of relief, he abandoned the heroic
and magnanimous strain in which his speech had

ATM.I.

nee,

Inger

)S to

Ihna.

;roic

had

flown, and which to so acute and wary a man of
.ififairs was perhaps unfamiliar. He cxcliaui^ed a
glance of satisfaction with the Rajah, who leaned
back among his silken cushions in an attitude of
greater comfort than he had allowed to himself dur-
ing the preceding anxious half-hour.

It only remained to instruct the young Sikh as to
the course and manner of his journey, which was to
be first to Ferazijore to receive the commands of
Junda Kowr, thence to Jummoo, where Golab Singh,
the recently appointed ruler of Kashmir, held his
brilliant court.

These matters sat^isfactorily arranged, Rajah Lai
with stately cerem-: ly took his leave, and Atma
found himself alone with his kinsman, who proceeded
to matters of not les: mterest.

•' I am honoured," he said, " by your proposed
alliance with my house," for Atma had disclosed to
her father his love for Moti. " I am honoured and
deeply moved ; but I defer this consummation of my
cherished wish until all may know that among many
suitors, I chose, to be the husband of my only child,
a leal soldier of the Khalsa. But your high nature
will, I perceive, count this prize lightly won by peril

ATMA.

I! !

endured for the Khalsa. You go to-morrow to
Fcruzporc, v here you will meet again Rajah Lai, who
has perhaps more influence with our clever Ranee
than many a better man. He repairs thither this
evening, and will no doubt prepare for you a favour-
able reception, and you will," he added, laughing,
«' in all probability be received with the overflowing
kindness and unveiled confidence which our British
friends deprecate ! "

This covert allusion was not understood by the
young Sikh, in whose thoughts all men were valiant
and all women fair and good. But he experienced
a shade of annoyance on learning that he must owe
anything to the good offices of Lai Singh. An
echo seemed to sound faint and far as in a dream ;
" Rajah Lai," it seemed to say, " means to pluck the
Rose of Lehna Singh's garden."

ATM A.

CHAPTER VI.

A SUBDUED lifrht stole throuc^h the latticed windows
of the house of Junda Kowr, revealing a court whose
hush and shadow contrasted with the busy life that
Atma had left behind him. The silence and pleas-
ing coolness were iii harmonious unison with ihe
gleaming alabaster arches, and the subdued loveliness
of arrangement was more agreeable to sense than
Lehna Singh's ornate magnificence. A lace-like screen
hung before a lofty recess. So plain it seemed that
one wondered at seeing it motionless in the breeze
made by the silken punkah swinging slowly to and
fro before it. It was of most delicately wrought
ivory, and veiled from the court where female attend-
ants flitted noiselessly about a group of three persons
engaged in earnest conversation. One, a woman
whose black eyes had none of the languor of her
race, reclined among embroidered cushions. The
splendour of her jewels proclaimed the Ranee,
Emeralds, rubies, and diamonds glittered on brow

MIHM

ATM A.

and arms. Before her on a cushion lay a carefully
folded and voluminous letter. Lai Singh lolled at
her side, and his gaze like hers was fixed on the
ingenuous countenance of Atma Singh, who stood
before the Ranee. She wore no veil, and as Atma
encountered the gaze of her bold black eyes, he
remembered the sneer of Lehna Singh.

" Come near," she commanded ; " you come to me
from our good friend, Lehna Singh. Let me hear
what word you bring from him."

" I come, Maharanee," replied Atma modestly, " to
obey your behests in all thihgs, but especially to
undertake a perilous mission, which 1 am assured
will result in benefit to the faithful adherents of the
Khalsa, as well as to the interests of your highness
and the Maharajah."

*' I have heard," said the Ranee, " much of your
devotion, courage, and unswerving integrity, which
render you peculiarly fitted for an enterprise recjuir-
ing singular daring and fidelity. Lehna Singh has
not scrupled to say that peril of life itself will even
be welcome to so brilliant a spirit."

Her mocking tone brought the blood to Atma's
cheek, he scarce knew why.

ATMA.

-our
lich
luir-

L'VCii

In a s

" It is the high calling of a Sikh,'' said he, " to
encounter danger, and by the sword to confirm the
Khalsa."

" It is a training that makes good soldiers," re-
turned the Ranee, " but as my claims may prove less
potent than those of the Khalsa, I promise that on
your successful return you shall receive from my
hands rare and costly jewels, and gold whose yellow
lustre will bid the treasuries of the world to open."

" On the other hand," interrupted Rajah Lai,
" remember that if we are betrayed, from that mo-
ment you are surrounded by countless and powerful
foes, whose revenge you shall not elude."

The lion-heart of Atma beat high at this threat, to
which he deigned no reply.

" My reward has been named, Maharanee," he
said, " than which the world can hold no dearei'. I
will fulfil your embassy and return to you, but the
prize for which I labour needs no enhancement to
make it worthy."

The Maharanee sought the eye of her comi)anion
with a glance of satisfaction, but the Rajah's gaze
was rivetted on Atma, whilst his features were dis-
torted as if by a moment's uncontrollable rage. The

ATMA.

transport passed as quickly as it had come, and he
sank back to his former negh'gent posture. But the
Ranee had seen, and a look of startled and angry
intelligence lighted her eyes.

Her instructions bound Atma to convey to Golab
Singh the letter before her, which Rajah Lai placed
as she spoke in a casket. It was an expedition of
some peril, as the country was occupied by the British
and their native allies, to whom a messenger on his
way to any court must be an object of suspicion. In
addition to this the friendly reception at the Court of
Jummoo of an envoy of Junda Kowr was altogether a
matter of conjecture.

Further directions regarding his movements in
Kashmir would, the Ranee informed him, be conveyed
to him from time to time by trusted servants.

'* A female servant," she said, " by name Nama,
has frequently been employed by me on missions
requiring great tact and caution. Her I will shortly
send to the borders of Kashmir, and if you repair in
fitting season to the Sacred Well of Purity you will
there receive from her any communication I may have
to make." The subject of the fateful sapphire she
lightly dismissed. " If we receive through this slave

ATMA.

>ns
tly

in
all
Ivc
Ihe

a good report of the demeanour of this new-made
Rajah, this horse-boy in my husband's service,
Rajah Lai Singh will join you at the court of Kashmir,
and the recovery of the missing jewel, which I am
told forms a prominent ornament in Golab Singh's
attire, will then no doubt engage the attention of you
both."

At present it was evident that the introduction of
an emissary of Junda Kowr into the councils of Golab
Singh was the chief end in view. No thought of
danger entered the heart of Atma as he went out
from the presence of the Maharanee to enter upon an
enterprise which was to be in its course and issue as
unlike the anticipations of his ardent heart as is the
solemn pilgrimage of life unknown to the dreams of
childhood.

The affront of a threat and the alluring promises
of riches were alike forgotten, and the star th.it led
his exultant steps shone with the twofold radiance of
love and loyalty.

■IMiiiaHl

I;,

ATM A.

CHAPTER VII.

Atma directed his steps on the tnorninc^ following
his interview with Junda Kowr northward towards
the confines of Kashmir. It was a lovely morning.
A humid mist veiled the distant mountains, towards
which his steps tended. Seen through its tender
swaying folds, how vague and beautiful their savage
slopes appeared. Light and shade, ominous gloom
and shining crag were hid from view. How often
thus the morn of life,

" In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds."'

A twilight not dispelled until the light dawns on a
retrospect whose bitterness could not be borne unless
seen side by side with the other picture of Paradise,
liut he had no thoughts other than of glad antici-
pation. Past pain and recent unrest were forgotten
in the renewed joy of freedom. He cast care to the
bree/.e for he had not lived loni^f enough to know that
the discontent which is the birthriuht of the child-

ATMA.

)n a

I less

use.

tici-
Itten

the
Ithat

lild-

ren of Adam is not dependent on circumstances, but
often attains most baleful activity when events seem
least lifely to harass the spirit. It was the morning
of life and of love, and the obscurity in which youth
walks is no dull haze but a golden glamour.

In one old form of the creation story is told the
first utterance of Nature, the cry of chaos, " Let love
be ! " Through what inspiration of wisdom it comes
to us out of the silence we do not know, but feel that
the earlier tale of a divine mandate, " Light be ! "
is not at variance with it. The cry of chaos lingers
in the heart of the race, and each new man in the morn-
ing of his being utters it in no doubt of its fulfilment
in his own destiny. He loves mankind, and would
be beloved ; he loves nature, and perceives no
relentless purpose in her variable moods ; and perhaps
most of all he loves his own soul with a love whose
disenchantment is to be the sorest agony that an
eternity can afford.

The cry of chaos lingers, and the story of creation
is repeated in each life history. The cry meets with
no response, but instead, relentlessly, sure ly, aye, and
most mercifully, the facts and e/ents group them-
selves about the cowering spirit, that before Love celes-

ii !

ATM A.

tial Light may arise. It is a terrible destiny, devised
by a God, and only possible in its severity for crea-
tures to whom it has been declared, " Behold, ye are
gods ! "

At noon Atma rested beside a pool. It was a
sequestered spot surrounded by thickets. The rushes
grew rank and tall on the margin and in the water.
The soft cooing of the doves hidden in the wood
broke the stillness. He ate of the slender fare which
he carried, and reclined on a flower couch until sleep
closed his eyes. The doves cooed on, and bright
lizards watched him.

Presently he awoke with a start. A rush of wind
a sudden plash of water were followed by the whizzing
of an arrow throucfh the air. He was close to the water.
Softly peering through the reeds he saw, palpita-
ting and stricken with fear, a snowy swan. The arrow
had missed the stainless breast and it was unhurt. The
wild creatures of his mountain home were dear to
Atma, and he would fain shield the beautiful bird.

Two youths emerged from the thicket at some
distance from where he stood. He went to meet
them, smiling at the folly of his half-formed intention
of guiding them from their prey. After courteous

A TMA.

salutation they inquired whether he had seen the swan.

" It is a bird reared by ourselves," they said, " which
strayed from us two days ago. We thought to wound
it in the wing and recover it, but the creature is so
wild that doubtless it is as well that it be killed out-
right."

Atma had slept, he told them, had been aroused by
their approach, had hardly realized the cause of his
awakening. " The swan is difficult to rear," he said,
" if indeed such effort be not fruitless."

" It is fruitless," they assented, '* but we need not
search hereabout if you have not seen it. You must
have heard the flaj) of his wing had it alighted near
you," and they turned their steps in a contrary
direction. Atma watched their vain search until on
the opposite side of the pool they disappeared into
the wood.

He stole a glance into the hiding place of the swan.
The soft plumage had not the dazzling purity which
he had known, and the beautiful neck that should be
proudly curved, drooped.

'* Poor imprisoned creature," he thought, " grown
in bondage, alien to its own nature of strength and
beauty."

AT MA.

iili

He watched it unperceivcd, timidly washing its
plumage in the still deep water. Soon it floated
further from the bank. Now and then it waited and
listened. The story of its captivity was told again
in its stealthy, trembling happiness.

But high overhead, between it and a disc of blue
sky, intervened a stream of lordly birds flying south.
From their ranks wafted a cry, and as it fell there
rose a wild echo, an unfamiliar note from the captive
swan.=^ It rose skyward, wearied wing and broken
spirit forgotten. It might be danger, but it was Home>
and like a disembodied spirit it ascended to a life
that, altogether new, was to be for the first time alto-
gether familiar.

A thought of kindred saddened the heart of
Atma. In the loss of parents and brethren lay, he
thought, the sole cause of the heaviness that oppressed
him. Their restoration would have made existence

*That this incident is suygesied by Hans Andersen's beautiful story is
so evident as scarcely to need acknowledgment. 'Ihe thoughts embo-
died here occurred to me in such early childhood that 1 do not experience
a sense of guilt in thus appropriating the lesson which I have no doubt
the writer intended.

ATM A.

complete. He h-.A i ^ ., ^'

"-rarest, very far awav H " ""' '"'•■"' ^^''^■"

voice or WnLcl oTcL. """"" ""'^ "°' '-- "-

1 find
-f'l all the eartii

Like tJlillfrs \\'\\U \\\.

irtii

How e'en
Tile crafty snake,

That tc„ betwixt .o„; , '•:rr' ""' ''^'^'■^'

.w«c barriers ii.ccrvene.

Ah iiic.
Shall only one

Ofgolclen thing, that be,

iZ T'' y^'-"'''^ t'>e sun
■in dolour hero IiT..'. •

Speeding the vvav . '"^"^ J°"'-"<-'y ■•"".

" way alone to great Eteri.ity >

I I;

ATM A.

The Soul

It sits apart,

Craving a prison dole

Of ruth and healing for its hurt,

As piteous captive should cajole.

Vainly, unheeding ear afar in stranger mart.

^7 MA.

CHAPTER vili.

°f an overhanging ,„,. !" . "^ ''''^ '" "'e shadovv

:"- "e descned ^.e , V o '" T' ''''' ^^-"^^
"^^-^^ liut a,thou-d, IT '^■"•^'^ -- --curely
'•' -"- or .ost .S.B L ;". ^'°"'' '"-'^ --'i ^-m

;"^' '^-'>e of possession :;rr'- '° ••' -aciden-
"'™ ^^"'"s of ,„,„., ,,,;;^'^ f-o floated around

:'•'" --OW of itself. 7, ; r" '"''' "- -ui
'-"-^ bolts i, ,„■,, ^„ 7 "«- he tried the

."-?->. and dashed hin,s ,fT ' "' '''''^' 'o
■" ^"^"'-^h or disappo :lf '';f ;'-.-., po,,,

""'' -"d i.e thouglu tha h ^""^^ ^^'^••^ "^e'f

;-"•>". bruised a:d el 1 Z^-'^' '^^ on the
g«"ce still en>vrapt hi„, , u '''"'■'"^'' fra-

'''-'--nce.andhisear'::::?;:!;-^^^^^

V M

"fjl

rr*iitfsr ittra.'maa^ji.utt^at. .

ATMA.

!HI>

ethereal harmony an articulate utterance. An inef-
fable intonation melodiously spoke :

" It opes to a key that is golden,
Within it a spirit lies folden,
The soul of all matchless deliglit.
All graces familiar or olden,
Propitious thine entrance invite."

lie now dnnly perceived the golden key to glitter
in the air. It came near to him, and he took it into
his hand from where it lay on a pillow of mist. When
he held it, the rocky door, though still fastened, no
longer hid from view the loveliness of the grotto. He
saw walls bedecked with gleaming jewels, marvellous
flowers, and countless silver lamps, whilst everywhere
were traced in precious gems the sayings of the Wise
of all ages. Winged creatures, whose looks spoke of
loving and perfect service, seemed to await his com-
mand.

A great fear seized him lest so beautiful a vision
should presently fade, and he would have rushed to
unbar the entrance, his eyes dimming with tears of
love and sorrow. But a second voice sounded from
above more solemnly sweet than the first —

ATMA,

^rc

Ion
to
of

'* Beware ! beware !
To abide none enter there ;
All you see is but a portal
Leading on to the Immortal ;
Though it be so fair, so fair,
Enter, not to tarry there ;
Idle tears, your torrent stay —
Beauty, it is consecrate
And can never fade away ;
Change it will, be re-create,
Born from narrow things to great."
But the first voice pleaded again. Together they

sang, and strangely enough they harmonized. Not

that the celestial utterance lent itself to the lighter

measure, but the nearer song took a softer cadence

and borrowed a new persuasion from the greater,

Passiona . grew the pleading, more alluring the

radiant retreat. The heart of Atma, ever open to

the influence of the good, cried to the solemn voice

above for help.

" Give also light," he said, "that I may sec beyond
the portal ! "

But the sound of his own voice was strange in the
land of dreams, and with that he awoke. It was even-
ing, and he arose and looked at the silent and frown-

ATMA.

; •

■ 1.

I
i

ing cliff, and even passed his hand over its face to
convince himself that he was still awake. A signifi-
cance attached itself to his dream, and he pondered it
long and wisely. The teachings of the founder of hir
Faith came into his mind, and the lesson of his visic •
seemed plain. He resolved to trust the conduct of
his steps to an unseen Guidance, and reverently owned
that a Benign Presence had watched his slumbers.
As he reflected, a belief grew that this massive rock
marked not only a halting place in his journey, but
a chief interval in his life.

" The way," he said, " is very long. Of what
use but to mislead in that course is my bodily s'ght,
which bids me doubt the reality of all the higher
truths which my inner consciousness affirms ? "

The stars were coming out, and looking upward he
remembered his childhood's hope that beyond their
radiant ranks was the Home of Spirits, and thus he
prayed :

" Father of Lights, these lesser beacons hide.
My way is long, this desert plain is wide,
Darken mine eyes so 1 behold my guide.

ATMA.

Whose .. "'-■'''^ ^•■•''-'^ '» '"■•'^3
vvnosc glorious .Vht is nnt ^f

To list the riversTow ' H °°" "°'' ^"" ^

s ,Jovv, and stand undone.

UrtT-

"■-n-my-MWHiiAij::

ATM A.

CHAPTER IX.

As Atma drew near to the confines of Kashmir he
trod a secluded vale, and followed the windings of a
broad stream whose banks were thickly wooded. As
lie pursued his way through a thicket he heard voices
in gay converse, and stayed his steps until, peering
through the heavy foliage, he descried below the over-
hanging river-bank two dark-eyed girls. They were
seated on a broad stone, and one laved her feet in
the water and bent over the swift current ; but the
head of the other, wreathed in scarlet blossoms, was
uplifted, and in the bright face half turned towards
him he recognized an attendant of Moti. She lis-
tened as if suspecting his approach, but soon apparently
satisfied, she resumed her light chatter with her com-
panion. Atma heard his own name, and gathered
that they sought him. He made himself known, and
the elder, who was Nama, the Maharanee's trusted
servant, related how her mistress greatly desiring
a sprig of White Ak, a tree of great virtue in

A TMA.

incantations, had commissioned her to obtain it in
the forest near by. She had also been charged, she
said, to meet Atmu Singh, and bring iier iUustrious
mistress tidings of his welfare.

Although, asa true Sikh, Atma \vorship[)cd an Idea,
and held in scorn all material semblance of the super-
natural, he knew that magic was largely practised by
professed adherents of the Khalsa, and so heard her
errand without surprise, though guessing that its
timely performance had in view some other puri)ose
concerning himself. This became certain when Nana
made known to him that she was not then to return
home, but to linger here and in the neighbourhood
of the Sacred Well, spoken of by the Ranee, for an
indefinite time, while the girl beside her at once
returning, would bear to T^erazpore as well as to the
house of his uncle tidings of his present safety. As
Nama spoke, Atma fancied once that the little maid
standing by sought to engage his attention by a mute
sign, but, ere he could be sure, she desisted and became
engrossed in the adjustment of the crown of scarlet
flowers with which she had bedecked her head. A
dim suspicion of treachery rose in his breast, a vague
misgiving. He rapidly recalled to mind the affec-

ATM A.

[I "

III.
¥

. :

tionate language of his kinsman, the promises of the
Ranee, and perhaps stronger than all rose the dear
vanity of royal youth, which cannot believe itself
scorned. Were not all the high hopes of his life at
stake ? It is not possible that when youth hazards
all, the venture should fail. But the foreboding re-
mained. It was akin to the shudder which tells us
that some one steps on the sod beneath which we are
to lie. The analysis of these subtle melancholies is
hard to read. A breath may summon them and they
linger unbidden, and whether they point only to the
dim shadows they invoke from the past, or whether
their warning be of the future, we cannot say. Even
as I write a sadness oppresses me, born of I know not
what.

If any asked me whence it came,

This languor of my soul to-day,
And why I muse in piteous frame

While all the glowing world is gay,
I could not tell, I only mourn,

And wonder how to life it stirred,
The memory of that distant morn,

As then I wondered had I heard
That grief could ever sink to sleep
Nor aye that stony vigil keep.

ATMA. 61

Enter ye dreams of vanished woe,
The spectral griefs of long ago ;
I fold my hands, in dreamlike trance,
I see their shadowy train advance —
Phantom forms like shades of eld,
Memory-prints or forms beheld,
I cannot know, they fade away ;
Faintly their voices seem to say,
'* You loved us not that distant day,"
And, lo, my foolish tears o'crflow.
Can this be I who fain would know
Those bitter griefs of long ago ?

As Atma approached the city of Jummoo he found
himself again by a river-side, and seeing a small boat
he entered it and was soon gliding with the current.
It was night when he floated among the trees of the
Palace gardens. Thousands of lights glittered through
the foliage. The air was burdened with perfume.
High above the sombre umbrage rose slender snowy
spires, around which the moonbeams lingered lovingly.
He left the little skiff and trod the terraced ascent. A
meandering brooklet, tributary of the larger stream,
was spanned by fairy-like bridges. He hesitated among
the intersecting ways, mazy, enchanting, and flower-
bordered. The living air was full of subdued sound.

illllltll I TT '"-""' •■

A 7 MA.

Bubbling water, tinkling bells, and the mingling of
many voices made music which was borne on per-
fumed winds. This was the fairest spot in all sunny
Kashmir, where the nightingale sings perpetually in
groves of citron, magnolia, and pomegranate.

He reached the splendid portico which was the
chief entrance of the Palace. Its carven and gilded
roof was supported by alabaster columns. It had
been a day of pomp and festival, and courtiers
still in their yellow robes of state reclined here,
languidly enjoying the cool night air. Atma ascended
the broad steps where officers of state where mar-
shalled in lines, gold-hilted swords at their sides, and
their gorgeous attire glittering with jewels. Here
he requested an audience of the Rajah, and, preceded
by a servant bearing his credentials, he passed through
lofty and magnificent chambers to an ante-room where
he rested until summoned to the presence of Golab
Singh, whom he found in an inner court lit by rose-
hued lamps. The air was cool, delicious and fragrant,
the stillness and the softened light were in pleasing
contrast to the dazzling splendour of the halls and
room he had traversed. Here in an alcove were seated
three or four men. The Maharajah received him with

A TMA.

affability, and made irravcly courteous enquiries for
the health and well-being of Junda Kowr. He wel-
comed her envoy, and would know of the difficulties
and dangers of his journey thither, and added grace-
ful flattery to his commiseration. Then, after much
courteous discourse, he confided the young Sikh to the
care of attendants, with many injunctions regarding
his comfort and refreshment. And Atma went out
from the august presence with heart elate, for he had
instantly observed in the turban of Golab Singh a
gem which by its size and hue he knew must be none
other than the Sapphire of Fate, whose magical renown
might yet in his true hands rally a degenerate Khalsa
until such time as the disciples of Nanuk might
again know good from evil, and reverence Truth
alone.

An hour later, as he left the sumptuous baths where
obsequious slaves had attended him, an oflicer of state
approached him with a message from the Rajah.

" Atma Singh, there are within these walls English-
men who hold command in the British army. As a
true friend and servitor to the Ranee, and the Maha-
rajah's esteemed guest, do not divulge nor let them

ith

ATMA.

suspect that you had lately audience of her high-
ness."

For Golab Sin^h, notwithstanding the cruelty of
his administration, was friend to all, Christian, Mus-
selman, lirahmin, or Sikh, and did not love to be
suspected of an undue sympathy with any, not even
when such sympathy might wear the cloak of patri-
otic loyalty.

A IMA.

CHAPTER X.

On the morrow the Rajah of Kashmir sat in the
terraced garden and talked of life. Those who sat
with him had lately braved death on battlefield, but
death had forborne to touch them, and they rejoiced in
existence. All around them the story was repeated ;
the deepening shade spoke of another shadow, but the
flashing sunbeams chased the thought ere it chilled ;
eaves fluttering to the mould said, " Ponder the
grave," but the shining air stirred and sent them
whirling aloft. Death and Life enacted a drama.

The human comedy ends in woe, but Nature ten-
derly masks her catastrophe, and her sorrows are hung
with gayest colours and adorned with fairest effects.
This is seen at sunset. The evening saddens, the
earth melts, and in my egoism I hail a fellow mourner.
I would protract the moment of the sun's entomb-
ment.

" There's such a charm in melancholy,
I would not if I could be gay."

A TMA.

pi!

11
'1

|i \i 1

It is the mood of little griefs. An unquiet wind
murmurs, but it does not rise to a wail.

I fain would bid th' ^Eolian tones prolong

To mourn the jolly Day's discomfiture,

And, mindful of mine own estate, among

The buds and grieving trees my plaint outpour,

That sweets must fade though Night will aye endure.

But crafty Nature, fancy to beguile

From her disaster, which, alas! is mine,

Bids to the front in radiant defile

A trooping host whose pomps incarnadine

The faded trophies of the dying day,

And, lest I fail before so brave array.

She decks the quiet clouds where fancies dwell

With sweet translucent gleam and melting hue

To woo my swooning sense with softer spell

Of blissful pink and hyacinihinc blue.

" Life," said the Rrijah ' is the fairest of flowers, and
its beauty and fragrance are for him who plucks."

" Plucks," sighed one, " to find it wither in his
grasp."

; Said the Rajah, " To do justice to life, one must
forget death."

ATMA.

his

" Forgetfulness may be desirable," said another,
" but how shall it be attained ? How deny the tyrant
who at each sunset demands his tribute dues of sleep,
and enwraps my vassal being in dull oblivion ? "

" By ill-conditioned fears," replied the Rajah, " men
invite evil. To him who desires the solace of ghostly
companionship shall the spectres troop, a phantom in
every shadow, and with him make their abode. He
who fears is already overcome. To the man who
would live there must be no death. For me, I love
the rosy, teeming present ; to-morrow is with the
gods, and I for one," he added laughing, " will not
be guilty of an impious theft by anticipating their
gifts."

*• Life," said an Englishman, " is a battle-field in
which victory is to the valiant. To my mind the
effort after forgetfulness is no less disquieting than
the fear you would shun. Death, could we but believe
it, is simple and natural as Life."

But this he said, not knowing that

** Life is a mystery as deep as ever death can be."
" It is true," spoI:e the Venerable Nawab Khan, a

ATM A.

Musselman of devout piety, " and to what purpose
do we struggle ? The inevitable is not to be averted*

Tho', sliding through lush grass, the shining snake,
Lovmg the sun, a sinuous way doth take,
Its fixed journey lo its home 'twill make.
Even as in tranquil vale reluctant rill,
In sportive twinings nigh its parent hill,
Proceedeth onward to the ocean still.

" Life is a dream," continued the pious man, " and
the first condition of its happiness is peace. For me
I am weary of battle-fields, and feel no desire to grasp
after illusive flowers and fading grass. If anticipated
evil is the shadow of life, th*^ vain toils of restless
ambition are its menace. Vain toil it is ! To labour,
to suffer, to sorely strive that we may accomplish
— our destiny ! For that is what our utmost efi*ort
alike with our quietude will achieve."

" And," demanded the Rajah, " is it then life to
breathe ? Such tranqu Uity will breed torpor rather
than dream. If the immobility of Fate be the theme
and burden of my days I dare the more. Let us
bare our breasts to the arrows of Fortune, let us
invite the shafts of Chance, let us taunt Fate, let us

^are our doon,, why should we fear > Th . "

""<y .f .hi,, „,■.„„„. ^„„f •""■ *"»' "» '»■

'' I^ Life be a flower
Light, facfie. and ^^4,
' '^! ^'''^^P t^at would hold it .
[^'^"1 a halcyon sea
Let the breezes that stir it
l^low thoughtlessly;

No breath ofcareshould chill it
Nor sad foreboding thrill it '

Knr honey-dew lies hid
I^cncath a fragile \i^^

And ardent clutch will spill it.M

" 'V." cried the Rajaii, - J j.u, ,,
flowers. ^^ ^^^ counsel of the

Obeissance to the blast
^^-»-k when it is pa.t,

n.se like a wasiien rose d

orgetful of
L^n heeding th

elic
sorrow,

morrow,

usiy,

ATM A.

I'
i ,
I

And meeting all destinies, mad, merrily ;

If Lite be a flower, 'tis fairest of all

If for it you fear fortune's pitiless thrall.

With the Tulip's proud beauty

Its wisdom combine,

And bear to the contest

A goblet of wine ! "

"Ah," sighed the pensive one, *' but the flower is
the l)oppy, for he who possesses it presently falls
asleep."

But iiis gentle conceit was unheard, for Nawab
Khan related a story.

" One sought," said he, " the cave where dwelt a
holy hermit of great reputation for wisdom and learn-
ing. He sate him down before the entrance, and
listened with patience and fortitude to the grave and
weighty saws which like bats increase in darkness.
Having presently earned the right of a disciple, he
plied the sage with questions, as : — What is the mate-
rial and constitution of the soul ? Where are laid the
bones of Seth .? What bounds the credulity of man-
kind ? These and many more did the Wise answer
in difficult words wliose sound carried conviction.
' He knows all things,' thought the imjuirer, ' 1 need

^rMA.

""t to ply Inn, witli rkUllcs ■ , . "

■■•« -"-'t -cs at „a,K,.- Wr,^',"'' ^^■''''"■™-
»Ih. had halted hithrrf . . '"' '"^^'■""■t.
"-' •"^o.,, and TT "° ""•■^"""' ^■■"■^^•' "-«-•''

" l^'ov/ng," I,, ,,,^,^,
-'■•-.-rdiscct/onto ,„•,,„;• "■'^"- -'"cd the

^^'' turned to AUm T] c ■
--l'^tastcfu,tohh„-,,.,l:/''"'''^"^''-'^'^i'^^^

til
til

cnic.

'•"^ ^ycs invoIuML,

i^'^-tioii witii so

offi

^-^youn- j.:„^r|,-.,|

'>'

fi'''ivc a

^'^;ijt tiic qi

^^^- in tiic iintisl

""'■'" ^^''o ^'ad spoken, il

friancc of

'■' ^'-^l^'-^'^sivc face l<incli

' •»'■"!>' and il

t-* was an

'^ name was iicrtr

y^i'n^- Sikii claimed
^1 bait'efield

-■<' ^v'tii kindly ^r

ini.

of life

'yipathy with I

'ace as tlic

M'ni in Ills yj

cvv

n.ave takenthe liberty hero of ,h
'^"»''-»inp I do not know. "'' ^' "^•''-'^•"-" ^^">ie whose

ATMA.

" But not," said Atma, " that triumph crowns
prowess in this fight. I know that life is a battle in
which sooner or later we must all succumb, but we
die knowing that the right is stronger through our
struggle."

" I am rebuked, Atma Singh," said Bertram ; " your
battlefield is a nobler one than that on which human
effort is rewarded by gain. I pray you continue."

" Behold the strength that comes from a convert,"
sneered some of the company, as with fervent though
modest speech Atma spoke of the high courage and
dauntless faith which transform defeat into Immortal
victory.

A silence fell on the gay throng. Some were
gloomy because reminded of their national discomfi-
ture. Others looked coldly on Atma and muttered
with discontent —

" He speaks of life as a thing that is yet to be."

ATMA.

.'73

CHAPTER XI.

Kajaii Lal Si.vgh arrived .-.f r

'-- ■•" -ch PO.P a„; ;; ^~7 ^-^ --^-^

dous mission was his H ''''"' ""^ ^''''^^^

attendants mounted on , M ^°''^'°"' ''^''' °' ■'"•'"'•'d

puDJic roads, vvindinir like i h.;ir .
'"-•ought the vales of Kashmir ,!\'"'"--'"' -■-?-''
°f the daily i„creasin„ '"■°"^'" ^'"'""S^

°" the torn and war-spen P k "'''' "°" "■"'""^

"-■ghtened after h,s .rr T '^""^'"•^■^ "--

and night. "''""••"^ ''-'•■''•y '•ok! .sway day

o-ir:::rr"^°"^^'--^^'-'^'M-to
"""-->''• They zr ,:'?v:, r '■- "^" ^°

■•efeat at the foot of the Raj X- ^ '" ''' '"'""^

" I confe.s.s >• said At ""^'' S''"'-'''^"'^-

enKages „,y thought r '' '"^ ''•'''•'dnc.ss of fate

ATM A.

i t

!i:

li.

; I

have spoken and written much on a subject so per-
plexing."

'^ They have," replied l^ertram ; " it has ever been
a favourite whetstone for the human reason. It has
been fretjuently solved to the satisfaction of the per-
former, but no sokition has yet won the universal
acceptance that is the badp^e of truth."

" It may be," said Atma, " that the answer lies not
anywhere beneath our sky."

A rustic in the foliage behind them drew the
attention of both. A gleam of vivid colour was
visible when they quickly turned, and Atma was in
the act of parting the myrtle boughs, when, anticipa-
ting him, Lai Singh .stepped forth from retreat.
Silken attire and splendour of jewelled turban were
insufficient to dignify his crestfallen demeanour, which,
however, changed rapidly when he darted a glance of
rage and hate at Bertram, who had greeted his sudden
appearance with a scornful laugh.

'• No doubt," he said," the English Sahib and Atma
Singh have grave secrets whose discussion calls for
deep retirement."

" No doubt of it," laugheil Bertram, *' but. Rajah
Lai, the yellow vestments of a noble Sikh," for the

i !

ATM A.

Rajah wore his state dress, " arc so ill fitted for am-
buscade that I promptly refuse to admit you to our
councils."

What answer the Rajah, whose stealthy face «^rew
livid at this sally, mii^ht have made, was stopped by
Atma, who, well aware of the danger to his companion
from such an enemy, and all unknowing of his own
place in the Rajah's esteem, interposed with courteous
speech.

" We are on our way," said he, " to the Moslem
burial-place near by, the tombs of which have become
interesting through the tales of Nawab Khan, lier-
tram Sahib jests, we will be gratified by Rajah Lai
Singh joining us."

The Rajah had regained self-possession and de-
clined the proffered courtesy in his usual cold and
sneering manner, adding with a crafty smile and with
covert meaning, which perplexed and startled Ber-
tram :

" It is a wise man who familiarizeshimself with the
grave. For me ; I must deny myself, for I go to-
morrow to take part in festivities the reverse of fune-
real. I commend the propriety and aptness of your
researches, Atma Singh."

mam

ATM A.

' i|

I i

So sayini:^ he withdrew with a salaam tliat failed to
cover the swift scowl he bestowed on Bertram.

" There goes an enemy, Atma Singh," said Ber-
tram, watching the retreating figure arrayed in barba-
ric splendour, the profusion of the enormous emeralds
that adorned his yellow robe so subduing its hue that
Bertram's thrust was unmerited, as far as his attire was
concerned at least. " He is a foe to fear, unless I
greatly mistake, an enemy of the serpent kind," he
continued.

But they speedily forgot the craft of the serpent,
and pursued their walk, conversing as they went.

Some tenets, they found, were familiar to the
minds of both, and these, they observed, might be
called historical. Such were the vague whisperings of
things that occurred in the dawn of young Time before
the earliest twilight of story — traditions that linger as
shades among the nations, vague hints 01 former
greatness and of a calamity, a crime whose enormity
is guessed by the magnitude of its shadow hovering
over the earth, shrouding men's cradles and darkening
with a menace their tombs. Such too were the joyful
surmisin^s of a restoration, such the imaginings of

A 7 MA.

is of
fore
|r as
hier
liity

ring

'ful
of

" That bright eternal clay
Of which we juiests ami poets say
Such truths as we expect for hapj^y ,iien."

" Your story of the world's creation is strangely in
accord with ours," said l^crtram. "Our narrative is
more precise, but the things stated so clearly typify
we know not what ; and we and you are, I doubt not,
wisest when we own ourselves ignorant. Who can tell
what is implied in the tale of the birth of Time out of
Eternity, ascending through seven gradations to we
know not what consummation when this seventh
epoch of rest shall be run ? "

" The words of the wise," said Atma, "assign to all
things perpetuity, which involves a repetition of the
cycle of Seven. Does the week of seven days repeat-
ing itself endlessly in time, image the seven epochs
which, returning again and again, may constitute eter-
nity > "

Bertram paused before he replied —

*' Your words move me, Atma Singh, for I have
heard that on the first day of a new week a Repre-
sentative Man rose from the dead."

They reached the Burying Ground. It was a lovely
spot. Fallen into disuse, the bewitching grace of

ATMA.

carelessness was added to the architectural beauty of
the totnbs. The verdure was rank, auu luxuriant trees
and marble tombs alike were festooned with clematis
and jasmine. Here they were pleased to find Nawab
Khan and the servant, whom he dismissed on their
arrival, and himself guided them to an old tomb
simpler in form than the rest, but more tenderly
and beautiful!)' clothed in moss and wild flowers than
any. They sat down while the Nawab related the
story of the maiden whose goodness it commemo-
rated.

" Sangita," said he, " was a princess of incompara-
ble beaut)' and surpassin gentleness. Her spirit was
humble, and as the 'leavenly streams of wisdom and
virtue seek lowly places, her nature shone every day
with a purer lustre. She loved tenderly a gazelle
which she had reared, and which was the companion
of her happy hours. It was not of the King's flocks
but had been found in Sangita's own garden, and none
knew who had brought it there. The talkative
people, noting the sagacity of the pretty creature and
the tender solicitude of its mistress, who crowned it
anew with garlands every morning and fed it with
sweetest milk and the loveliest flower buds, whispered

ATMA,

to one another of its mysterious appearance, and
allefjed for it miraculous origin. One day as it fed
among lilies, the princess nearby, overcome by tiie lieat'
slumbered. She slept long and heavily, and when she
awoke her favcniritc was nowhere to be seen. Calling
and weeping, she wandered through vale and giade,
searcliing the hare's covert, but starting back, for she
descried a viper there ; {jeering into the den of a wild
beast and shuddering, for it was strewn with bones ;
hastening to a gorgeous clump of bloom where she
thought it might have rested, but the splendid blos-
soms were poisonous and she turned away. All the
dark, damp, dangerous night she sought, and it was
morning when she found the gentle creature stretched
on the moss, its piteous eyes glazed over with death,
for it had been pursued and had sunk from exhaus-
tion.

In delirious ravings Sangita told her people
that when she knelt on the moss, and, wringing her
hands, bewailed that it had not sought the shelter of
a Secure Resting Place, the gazelle reproached her.
' I know not of that country,' it said, ' it is not here.'
And this, although the wild speecliufa fevered brain,
gained credit wi^h the populace, and the Wild Gazelle

ATMA.

cherished by the frood princess became a memory
fraught with awe and superstition. For me, I believe
that the devout and good heart utters wisdom una-
wares, and that the tongue habituated to golden speech
may drop riches even when the light of reason is with-
drawn. The sickness of Sangita was mortal, but her.
mind cleared before she expired, and she then
obtained from the King her father a'promise that over
her ashes should be erected a lodge whose door, never
fastened, might afford a Haven of Retreat such as her
fevered dream desired ! "

They looked on the tomb, its walls gleamed white
through the foliage that draped it. It was old and
neglected. The door was nearly concealed from view
by the luxuriant growth of many years, and when they
examined it closely they found that it hung on one
rusty hinge.

" May we believe," asked l^crtram, "that the tender
fancy of the dying princess was ever verified by the
actual shelter here of a fugitive ?"

** The story is ancient," replied Nawab Khan, " and
I cannot say. The lesson she taught would forbid
the finding anywhere a Place of Rest."

ATMA.

niory
ilievc

una-
pcech

with-
ut her.

then
t over

never
as her

white
Id and
m view
n they
n one

Itendcr
)y the

■ and
forbid

But it neared the hour of the devout man's prayers
and he left them.

*' Navvab Khan," said Atnia, " speaks not as he
beheves, for many are the Havens of the Moham-
medan."

*' Ay," said Bertram, '• and does not every creed
too soon become a secure retreat to the spirit of man
to which God has denied the repose of certainty. We
crave knowledge which is w ithheld more earnestly than
we desire faith or hope, and we eagerly make even
its semblance a foothold. It appears to me, my friend,
with whom 1 am grown bold, that you and I may find
in our less material beliefs as false a haven as the
pilgrim finds in his Mecca."

" You say well," said Atma thoughtfully, " it is not
new to me. Thoughts for which I cannot account
have been borne in upon my soul, waking and sleep-
ing, by riverside or on .. s ntain height, and I know
and believe that 1 wir- would find God must close
his eyes and ''is fv<.''

" And the ^oui," s^d Bertram, " that knows an
infallible guide, be it voice of other man, or of his
own reason, or volume of mystery, or whatever it be,
that soul walks not by faith, l^ut why speak of a

ATMA.

'i ]\

soul finding God ? The soul of man must be first
found of Him, and it seems to me that until thus
adopted no soul would prefer faith to knowledge —
thus much might we learn of Nawab khan."

And as they returned to the Palace, they continued
this grave discourse, lamenting the sadness and sin of
the world, and Atma, greatly moved, told that his
life's purpose, of which he might not fully speak, in-
volved the conquest of evil and the redemption of the
world by means whose greatness was worthy of the
Qnd. And Bertram, sometimes assenting, often silent,
hoped that at last, by each and all means employed
by man, the whole world might be redeemed. He was
a Christian and devout, but he, too, desired to redeem
the world. His dream was one with Atma's. But the
highest dreams are soonest dissolved, for the dispell-
ing of illusions and breaking of idols is God's benison,
and is given soone.st to those whom He approves.

AT MA.

'\^

chaptp:r XII.

iS.

Thefe was fear of Evil Influence, pestilence and death
in the country, and as the time of new moon drew
near, propitiatory sacrifices were prepared. A num-
ber of the courtiers of Golab Singh declared their
intention of visiting sacred places and offering gifts.
Many who abjured these rites went also as to a festi-
val. On sucli an errand many supposed Lai Singh
to be gone, although his prolonged absence led to
unspoken surmisings among those who looked on
him as the emissary of a political party, but at the
close of a fierce contest men are chary of speech, and
none spoke his suspicions. At all eveiUs he had
disappeared the day after the events of our last
chapter.

Atma resolved to take this opportunity of attempt-
ing to communicate witli the Maharanee, and inti-
mated his purpose of resorting to the Well desig-
nated by Nama. It was of course on the southern
border of Kashmir, and entailed a long pilgrimage.

AT MA.

' I

i I

}

Bertram, tired of splendour, would accompany him.
Together they set out on horseback, followed by
attendants who bore gifts for the Shrine. They rode
forward, leaving their retinue, and conversed as was
their wont.

Atma fain would know w hy his friend so devoutly
went on pilgrimage.

" I suppose," said Bertram laughing, " that the
Nawab would tell you, though the ass goes to Mecca
he becomes not a pilgrim thereby. But Atma Singh,
if I mistake not, your own creed does not recognize
the rites we are to witness ; I ask, then, in my turn,
wliy, since our mission is meaningless, does your
choice of a destination lead us to the most distant
of the sacred places ? "

" I do not say that the Shrine is without sanctity
to me," replied Atma evasively, " and the place is
one of great attractiveness, while the journey thither,
though longer, is more agreeable than other routes.
Jiut your jesting challenge reminds me of what once
befel the holy Nanuk, the founder of the Sikh
religion. He slept in the heat of the day on a grassy
bank with his feet turned westward. A Moham-

ATMA.

nctity
lace is
liither,
loutes.
once
Sikh
rrassy
)ham-

nicdaii priest findini^ him, slriick him and deniriiidicl
how he dared ih'rect his feet towards the sacred city
of Mecca. < * How dare you, infidel doi;, to turn your
feet towards (iod ? ' lie demanded. I'lie wise one
responded :

' 'riK)U<;h past tile liij^hest lu\'iven of iieaveiis I rise,
Thouj^h cowerini; in tiie dee[) I iiide mine eyes,
I roam but tliroui;!! the Mos(|ue ins h.mds liave
wrouj^ht,
Show me, O Moulvie, wliere thy God is not! '"

" Your wise man spt)ke a^reat liuth," said liertram.
" The earth is a rem|)le, it was t. usi^ned for a 1 louse of
Prayer, ant! in it (iod lias j)laced not a sect nor a na-
tion, but all mankind. Many a Holy of Holies has man
raised within this tem[)le, and vaiidy have the builders
sou^iit by ever\' device of loveliness, sensuous or
shadows', to achieve for tiieir inventions the Beauty
of Holiness. Your Nanuk was divinely taui^ht, for
leavin<; alike the Material and the Ideal, lie grasped
the True."

Now they paused where sat a mendicant who be-
sought charity. Atma bestowed a gift, saying,

'• Our great teacher said :

ATM A.

f. ' I

' 1 he beggar's face a mirror is, in it
Wc best learn how our zeal in heaven appears.

Pause then and look — nor pious alms omit,
Lest on its brightness fall an angel's tears.' "

Then Jiertram, pleased with this, asked more re-
garding the founder of the Sikh faith, and Atma
related what things the teacher had accounted holy.
"This," he said, "did he instruct :

'The liearts that justice and soft pity shrine
Are the true Mecca, loved of the Divine.

Who doth in good deeds duteous hours engage,
Performs for God an holy pilgrimage.

Who to his own hurt speaks the truth, he tells
The Mystic Speech that pious rite excels.

Rude orisons of alien He will bless

If they are offered but in faithfulness.' "

" It 'is .good," said Bertram, "modes of worship
aic many, faiths are nearly as various as the tempera-
ments of mankind, but virtue is one. No universal
intuitio!) prompts to a form of ritual as acceptable to
God, but the moral sense of all the race points un-
svverv

rly

poU

another name for I\irity

ATM A.

«7

"^'i"y." he continued "h. u
o-lai„ed ,u,des of th t„.';" """ "'^- -''-

'-dersofthebi,-„C,,vo„M "*•■""■• "'""
Why should a .na, d I H """" "^ ""= ^'•'"■''' '

'^ 'lot from df^^.Vo r . ^^ surely

<'-e.d,-nth.,,,,,,„,j:'-;;^-^^^^^

gates to hi„,self the place and ''^" ^"''-

^- Pn.st and poet t,'T"' ''"'"' ^"^

'''^ P'ace of mediator .„t '"" "''° ""'-^

fellows and the TT i '"'"P'-'^'e,- betwixt his

■•'Realist, and i::::;;^^^^^^^

Thcy halted that ni-rhf ,.1
'*-."> in n,oon,i,h i w., "" "^° ^^^-"-^ -'t.

ccVed the u vp '': ^""^ ^" '"'^^ "-•>■ P-

t"o fees, and ti ; "■ ■""""■"" °^ ">^- --■ and
' " "^^ •'solemn nioonlfcrht 7.

-'■0''--mak-espoetsof„K.n..: vt ""'■

licad and spoke : """ '■'"^"' '"«

i ^

ATMA.

" At traiKjuil cvc is proper time for pray<_r,

When winds arc fair,
Aiul gracious biiadows 'mong the myrtles move.
The h'st'ning eve it was ordained for prayer.

By the soft murmur of thy cooing dove

Teach me to love ;
Grant that tliy starry front fdl my death's night

With joyful light ;
And hushed as on this bank the violet's close

l^e my repose.

Abide Love, Happiness, and I'eace till shining morn
From the same birth that gave the past be borne."

liertram :

" I^'air are these hillside haunts at even calm,
And sweet the fragrance of each flowery spray.
Dew of the Spirit, fall in heavenly balm
Upon my slumbers; bounteous Lord, I pray,
Like one who sang thy praise in other way,
Uless Thou the wicked, for the Good, I know,
.Are blessed already, blessed they come and go."

! i t;

\ is. I

I ill

AT MA.

CHAPTER XIII.

ro.

The shrine of the Well of l\irity was on a dainty
islet which lay in the centre of a small lake. The
gr>.«tto was almost concealed from view, but movinj:^
forms of worshippers were visible amont^ the
trees when Atma and Bertram drew near to the
water's edge. A band of laus^hing girls carrying
laden baskets of corn, ami rice, and flowers were
leaving the shore in a light skift". It was a lovely
scere, the shining lake reflecting again the gem-like
mound of foliage which rested on its bre.ist. Ber-
tram gazed on the picture, whilst Atma, whose quick
and expectant eyes had discerned the form of Nama
near at hand, followed her unnoticid by his com-
panion. The Maharanee, Nama related, had sent to
Atma Singh the gold which she carried, in token of
her approval of her loyal servitor, and also a box of
onyx which she prayed him to o[)en and read words
contained ttierein, retaining meanwhile possession of
the casket and its contents until further tidings.

ATMA.

!:i,

With many reverences Nama further informed him
that the h'airest of all the Lilies pined for him, was
wjrieving at his absence, but was now to he gladdened
by the prospect of his speedy return, which tidings
the Maharanee had deputed her to convey forthwith
to the household of Lehna Singh. Notwithstanding
the joy of knowing himself an object of tender solici-
tude, a vague foreboding once again filled the soul of
Atma. When the woman left him he considered
thoughtfully the messages he had just received,
slowly meanwhile undoing the claspings of the onyx
box and raised the lid. Immediately a powerful
odour issued from it and almost overcame him. He
reeled and gasped for breath, nearly losing con-
sciousness. However, having seated himself, he
presently recovered, and somewhat more cautiously
opening the casket, he drew from it a paper which
containetl a strangely worded commendation of him-
self, " The staunch and courageous friend of the
Ranee, the Restorer of the Sapphire of Fate, the foe
of whatever was inimical or false to the Sikh interest."
Thought Atma, " This praise is no doubt won by the
good report conveyed to herb)' Lai Singh, who, not-

ATMA.

111-

loe

withstanding faults, can be generous as well as just to
a Sikh brother."

He remained seated for some time, his head sup-
ported on his hand, for he still felt giddy, thinking
painfully and earnestly. The numbing effects of the
odour he had inhaled testified to its poisonous nature,
but no precautions, he reflected, had been taken to en-
sure its effect ; on the contrary, its immediate result was
to alarm and warn the rash meddler ere mischief could
be wrought. Nama also had hastened away, as not
expecting any such terrible issue, of which certain
tidings would be desired if murder such as he
dreamed of had been contemplated. It could not
be, he thought, and Rajah Lai would explain on
his return what now ap[)eared so mysterious.

Returning the paper to its case he secured it about
his attire and sought Bertram, who had wandered
along the woody banks of the lake, and whom he
found at some distance away, listening to the rare
song of a swan, distant and strange and sweet. Soon
it glided into death at the opposite shore. It brought
back to Atma's mind the morniuiJ when a noble
bird hat! by his aid escaped its captors. He recalled
its subsequent restoration to its kind, and the sym-

ATM A.

pathy and undefined aspirations awakened in his
breast.

They entered a boat and crossed the water, landing
speedily on the soft, damp islet sward. The grotto
was still clad in morning freshness, for the strong
beams of tiie sun had not yet penetrated to the heart
of the sacred grove. The entrance was hung with
garlands, votive offerings from the poorer pilgrims.
More costly gilts lay near, and all around knelt wor-
shippers.

A new party arrived, bringing a snowy fleeced
lamb to be offered in sacrifice. It was decked with
wreaths, and bleated piteously. Presently it was
killed, and its blood was caught in vessels to be
taken home and smeared on doors and walls to
drive away blight and pestilence from the dwellings
of men. While this was being done, the crowd
looked on carelessly or curiously. But Bertram and
Atma noticed that the man who had made this offering-
looked upwards with famished eyes and despairing,
and a groan escaped his lips, and to Ik'rtram it
seemed as if he said :

" J^eiiold I go forward, but he is not there; and
backward, but I cannot perceive him."

A TMA.

•ys

no-

»g.

They stood apart, watching the scene. Then Atma
presented his gift for the enriching of tlic shrine, and
withdrawing aside he knelt on the grass and prayed,

''Bright God and Only Si^! iXoa^
Not to be un-'K rstood !
Illume the darkened twiliglit of thine earth ;

The dewdrop of so little worth
Is garnished from the riches of the sun ;
Lead me from shadowy things to things that be,

Lest, all undone,
I lose in dreams my dream's reality ;
Thy Home is in the Fatherland of Light,

Strong God and liright !
In still beatitude and boundless might!

I veil mine eyes,
Thy holy Quietness I seek w ith sighs. '

Said Bertram, "The earth has not a suectacle
more fraught with meaning than this; the acknow-
ledged monarch of terrestrial things bowing in clre;ul
— a dread of what ? of that voice in his breast whicii,
being silent, is yet the loudest thing he knows? Why
is the innocence of that sacrificial lamb so i)athctic to
my sight ? Why should religious rites in which I do
not participate move me strangel)- and deeply ?'

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ATMA.

If
ill'

!f:

"These things are a shadow," said Atma, '^ and a
shadow is created by a fact."

" I join in your prayer," said Bertram. " ' Lead me
from shadowy things to things that be.' Types are
not for him who believes that the horizon of his
siglit bounds the possil)le."

" No," replied Atma, '' better reject the image than
accept it as the end of our desire. The faith of my
fathers, which grasped after Truth, teaches me that if
the outward semblance of divine verities lead cap-
tive not only my senses, to which its appeal is made,
but my heart's allegiance, I am guilty of idolatry."

" How fair," said Bertram, " must be the thing
imaged by earth's loveliest pageantry! What must be
the song of whose melody broken snatches and stray
notes reach us in the golden speech of those endowed
with hearing to catch its echoes ! What harmony of
beatitude is taught by the mystery of heavenly
colour 1 How dull must be our faculties, or how
distant the bliss for which our souls yearn as from
behind a lattice, seeing only as in a mirror of bur-
nished silver, which, though it be never so bright, re-
flects but dimly ! How unutterable are our transitory
glimpses of eternal possibilities ! "

ATMA.

;t be

of
enly
how
rom
bur-
■, re-
itory

" Therein," said Atma, " may h'c the reason why
evanescent beauty stirs us most. It may be more
hep.venly in meaning or affinity than things that re-
main. This has sometimes perplexed me.

" For, ever most our love is [jiven
To glories whose decadence fleet
Has more of changeful earth than heaven ;

The heart's astir,
And sympathies leap forth to greet

The minfjliiifr fair
Of heavenly hues limned in empyreal bow
Aloft in dewy air, but ere we know
Their place and method true they fade away,
And fancy follows still, though things as beauteous

stay.

What joyous note.

Warbled in bliss of upper air,
May with the one death-song compare
That floats among the reeds, and blends
With wild wind's plaint, till silence ends

In haunt remote

Sweet life and song;
They float away the reeds among.

"I beware me of types," he continued, "though 1
know nothing real. I am surrounded by images,

:,.iipnwMMiMMLi4«4iM^4^iHM^^^

■&~-«Si:i.mniirvui,..^

' I'

\l I

^ TtI///.

my present state of being is a shadow, but I crave
reality. The symbol is fair, but Truth is fairer. To
that verity all types must yield, how beautiful soever
they be, or meet to express their burd jn."

And yet \unv dear the transient joys of time,

Their purport not the Pearl of our desire.

Loved are these confines as immortal clime,

And dear the hearth-flame as the altar fire ;

When fate accomplished wins her utmost bourne,

And fulness ousts for aye fair images,

Will doting mt m'ry from their funeral pyre

Rise phcenix-wise and earth-sick spirits yearn

For fragrant flower, and sward, and changeful trees.

For storied rose, and sweet poetic morn,

For sound of bird, and brook, and murmuring bees,

For luckless fa icies of illusion born.

What time in dark we dwelt and framed our lore ?

Woe, woe, if then regretful we should mourn

" What wisdom left we on that human shore ! "

For brooding kindness can a charm beget,

Not duly won, and from Heaven's parapet

These terrene colours shine with starry gleam —

But this is all a fable and a dream ;

:rave
To

)ever

ATMA.

A fable, for this axiom it brin^rs
Immortal loves must love imrnortal Ihinc.s •
Dream is it, for uncurbed it took its flic.ht^ '
And roamed afar, a fancy of the Ni^^ht '

I. "

rees,
?es,

rmmm

ATMA.

CHAPTER XIV.

TllK roses in the gardens of Lehna Singh hung their
heads, the sunbeams danced no longer, and the
pleasant fountains fell with monotonous plash on
sullen pools, where goldfish hid themselves and sad
swans floated apart. Moti wept in her bower, and
Nature, which sympathizes with the good, grieved
around her. The sun-birds flew away, for their gay
plumage is not for times of mourning, but the doves
lingered and hushed their wooing that they might
not offend the disconsolate.

And this was Moti's garden, where happiness and
beauty had once their dwelling.

Bloomy roses die,
Wan the petals floating.
Whirling on the breeze's sigh,
Ah, the worms were gloating,

This is by-and-bye.

In the great hall princes and nobles feasted with
mirth and music. Laughter and outcries and mad

ATM A.

>s a

\ with
mad

revelry re-echoed through the stately archways and
marble courts. Lai Singh was there, and great honour
was rendered to him, for this was the time of his be-
trothal, and the bride was Moti. The festival had lasted
for two days, and would be prolonged for many more.
Moti was forgotten. The little maid who loved her
lay on the floor at her feet and wept because Moti
wept. Those who with zither and dance should have
beguiled the hours, had stolen away to peep through
latticed screens at the revelry.

Moti thought of Atnia and moaned, but the little
maid thought only of her mistress, and bewailed the
fate that had joined her bright spirit by unseen bonds
of love to one pre-doomed by inheritance to misfor-
tune.

" For adversity loved his father's house," she sighed ;
" it is ill to consort with the unfortunate, for in time
we share their woe."

But Moti wrung her beautiful hands and cried :

*• Ah if this bre-'h of mine might purchase his !

Then death were fair and lovely as he said

In that enchanted even hour when he

Of love, and death, and moans, and constancy

Told till dark things grew lovely, and o'erhead

Sweet stars seemed ghosts, and shadow all that is.

loo

AT MA.

Hut I have lost my life and yet not death
Have won, and now to me shall joy be stranj^e ,
And all my days the kindly winds that breathe
From mirthfid groves of Paradise shall change
In my poor songless soul to wail, and sigh,
And moan, and hollow silence — let me die !

Poor me ! who fearless snatched at bliss so high.
Witless ! and yet to be of slight esteem
And little wortli is sometimes well, no dream
Of higli unrest, no awful afterglow
Affrights us simple ones when that we die.
Vain flickering lamps soon quenched — we but go
P^rom this brief day, this short transition,
This interlude of farcial joy and woe.
Back to our native, kind oblivion.

Can this be Moti, she who prates of being,
And life, and death, and fallacy, and moan ?
Ah, how should I be fixed and steadfast ? seeing
All things about me shift, I need must change ;
Things which I thought were plain are waxen strange.
Things are unfathomable which I deemed
Shallow and bare ; nay, maid, I do not rave,
Sunbeams are mysteries, and Love that seemed
All winged joy, and transport light as air,
Ah me, but Love is deeper than the grave,
Is deeper than the grave ; I seek it there.
Dear Death, bind Love for me, till that I die !

I¥f9^

ATMA.

And he is doomed to die who loved me !
O bitter, bitter end of tenderness !
O doleful issue of my happiness !
Weep, little maid, for one that loved me !

O might I with my last of mortal breath
Bid him the cruel treachery to flee,
And hear his voice and sink to happy death,
So still might live the one that loved me !

Cease, kindly maid, arise, and whisper low,
As moon to weeping clouds, until there rise
Like pallid rainbow, wan with spectral glow,
A thing of fearful joy athwart my skies,
A hope, a joy e'en yet that this might be,
That I should die for him who loved me.

lOl

mere.

I waste no life, no blame shall me dismay.
For these brief days of mine are but a morn,
A handful of poor violets, wind-worn,
Or nurseling lily-buds which to mislay
Were not the ill that to the perfect flower
Might be if cruel hand should disarray
Its starry splendour when in ripened hour
It floats in tranquil state on Gunga's stream.

jjiMll^aaj

wwrnfim »"ni»:u.

I02

ATM A.

Make ready, little maid ; sweet is the gleam
That lightens this ill night, soft clouds will weep,
The fervid bulbul still his song, beneath
Our tallices the blinking jasmines sleep,
The kindly myrtles shadow all our parth.

Speak, gentle maid, tell me it shall be so,
That 1 shall find my love ; speak and we go
On pilgrimage more sweet than home-bent wing
Of banished doves — now, I will chant of woe,
And though my song be doleful, blithe 1 sing."

O Night !
O Night so true !
The promise of the Day is full of guile.
Fair is the Day, but crafty is her smile ;
The friendly Night, it knows no subtle wile.

Dear Night !
Bring weeping dew,
And sad enchantments to undo the spells
Of baleful day, while from thy silent cells
C^f dusk and slumber, still heart's-peace exhales.

O Night !

O Night, pursue

The bitter Day, and from her keeping wrest

Those cruel spoils, and to my empty breast

Give lethean calm, and dearest death, and rest.

AT MA.

103

CH/.PTER XV.

lales.

rest.

The Rajah of Kashmir and his court went a-hunting
on the day of Lai Singh's return to their good com-
pany. They swept down the valley, a gorgeous train
of nobles and host of attendants with falcons [I'wt for
foray, and moved with much state and circumstance
among the hills until the sun grew hot, when silken
tents were pitched in a walnut grove near by a
smoothly flowing river. Here they ate and drank
and reposed while obsequious servants fanned them,
and the sweet music of vinas blended with the mur-
mur of the water and the droning of the bees.

The Rajah sate in the entrance of a crimson tent
and enjoyed the delicious air. The nest-laden
branches drooped above, the twittering of birds ceased,
but gentle forms hopped lightly from twig to twig,
and curious eyes peeped from leafy lurking-places.
In the turban of the Rajah, the Sapphire of 1^'ate shone
with serene lustre like the blue water-lily of Kashmir.
His fingers toyed idly with the plumage of a magnifi-

104

A TATA.

cent hawk, now unhooded but still wearing the leathern
jesses and tiny tinkling bells of the chase. The leash
by which it was held slipped gradually from the arm
of an attendant and it was unconfined. Its keen eye
knew all the ambushed flurry overhead, but it did
not rise — a more curious prey lay nearer.

In a moment it was poised in air. Another second
and it had gained possession of the Mystic Stone, the
augur of weal to the Khalsa, its menace when borne
by a foe, the portentous Sapphire of Fate !

All was consternation and clamour. The unlucky
fellow who had slipped the leash, waving his wrist,
sought to induce the bold robber to alight, but his
cries were scarcely heard above the vociferation of
the throng, and he was fain to tear his beard and
curse the day of his birth. But as neither lamenta-
tion nor rage could restore the treasure, cooler heads
dispatched a party of horsemen with falcons and lures
to decoy the recreant.

With the first shout of dismay and horror Atma
stood as if transfixed, en wrapt in thought, and did
not stir nor speak until the rescuing party had long
vanished across the plain, and Bertram touching him
on the shoulder rallied him on his abstraction, and

liiffTiilifil'f

A TMA.

»05

[ma
did

)ng

iim
ind

told hiri that the Nawab was about to beguile the
time and reanimate the flagging spirits of the ilkis-
trious company with a tale. Repressing a sigh, Atma
smiled and suffered his friend to lead him into the
circle forming about the story-teller.

" Far back," began the Nawab, " far back in the
ages whose annals are lost in story, when, Time and
Eternity being nearer the point of their divergence,
things preternatural and strange entered into the lives
of men, there lived a mighty king of great renown,
who, being stricken with a lingering but fatal malady,
spent the last years of his life in adjusting the affaii ••
of his kingdom and preparing all thing.s to ti '• single
end that the reign of his successor, who was Ins (Mily
son, might excel in grandeur and dominion all other
empires of that era. This son ascended tlic thronr-
while still of tender years, and found that parental
fondness had endowed him with unequalled power
and dominion. His subjects, under the beneficent
rule of the departed king, had become a great and pros-
perous nation ; he was at peace with all neighbouring
monarchs; his treasuries were filled to overflowing;
and, more than all, the wisdom of the counsellors
whom the king 'us father had appointed to instruct and

'• -UJMU.,*..

io6

A TMA.

'f I

guide his early years had sunk deep into a heart well-
fitted by Nature to receive it, and his demeanour was
such that the loyal affc^lion which was his by inheri-
tance soon changed to a heartfelt admiration and love
of the virtues which all men perceived him to possess.
Surely no monarch ever began to reign under more
auspicious skies. One of his palaces, his chief pleasure-
house, had been built for him by command of the late
king, and was of unique excellence. Its progress
during erection had been impatiently watched by the
monarch, who desired to see it complete and be
assured of its perfection before he closed his eyes on
the world, so that the skilful builders who wrought
day and night were distracted between the injunction
laid on them that it should be in every part of unri-
valled beauty, and the houiiy repetition of the royal
mandate that the task be accomplished immediately.
But, notwithstanding, so well did they succeed that
among all the wonderful palaces of that age and land
there was none to compare with The Magic Isle,
for thus was it called, because by ingenious device it
floated on the bosom of one of the lakes by which that
country was diversified. No bridge led to this palace,
but gilded barges were ever ready to spread theirsilken

KPJH

ArAfA.

107

:tion
mri-
oyal
tely.
that
land
Isle,
ce it
that
lace,
Ikcn

sails and convey the k'uvj^ to and from the elysium,
which sometimes, as if in coquetry, receded at his ap-
proach among flower-decked islands, and sometimes
bore down to meet the gay flotilla, branches spread and
garlands waving, like some enchanted vessel of un-
known fashion and fragrance.

" But strange to tell, the young king grew every day
more grave and pensive in the midst of all these
delights. Music nor mirth could win him from the
melancholy which overshadowed him. The truth was,
that amid so much adulation as surrounded him, the
idol of a nation, his soul no longer increased in wisdom ;
and loving virtue beyond all other things, he secretly
bemoaned his defection whilst not perceiving its
cause. His virtues, the cynosure of all eyes, withered
like tender flowers meant to blossom in the shade, bu
unnaturally exposed to noon-day. His adoring people
bewailed what they thought must be a foreshadowing
of mortal illness, and the wise counsellors of his
childhood vainly strove to fathom his mood. Hut
those who know us best are ever the Unseen, and about
the young monarch hovered the benignant influences
that had watched his inf;incy, and now rightly inter-
preted the sorrow of his heart. In sooth, that this

0^4

iiiPBBPfwwii******

io8

ATMA,

sorrow was matter of rejoicing in the Air, I gather
from the joyous mien of that river-sprite which one
day surprised him as he languidly mused in a balcony
that overhung the water, and spoke to him in accents
strange to his ear and yet at once comprehended.

" ' Come, O king, my voice obey ;

Come where hidden things are seen ;
Come with me from garish day,
Withering, blasting, grievous, vain.
To retreat of mystery,
Haunt of holy mystery.'

"These words, as I have related, were spoken in an
unknown tongue, and yet my story gives the mystic
speech in pleasant and familiar rhythm. I do not
know ho\N' this may be," and Nawab Khan gravely
shook his head, " but perchance in recounting his
experience, the king, unable to exactly reproduce in
his own tongue the message brought to him by the
sprite, for the thoughts of the Immortals cannot be
expressed in human speech, conveyed a semblance of it
in such words as he could command, and sought to
veil their incompetency by an agreeable measure.
In like manner I think may the art of poetry have

nuiiaBriifiniffrfr

ATMA.

109

been invented. It is an effort to cover by wile of dulcet
utterance the impotence of mortal speech to tell the
things that belong to the spirit. And, after all, lan-
guage as we know it is an uncertain interpreter of
even human emotions. So manv of our words, and
they our dearest, are but symbols representing un-
known quantities.

*' But to return to my story," continued the Nawab,
" the sprite waving her arms beckoned the king to
follow her, and led the way towards the river's mouth.
It entered the lake only a short distance from where
they were. The kingexperiencedapoignantgrief when
for a moment he feared that, unable to follow her, he
must forever lose sight of his beauteous visitant. But
in another instant he was stepping into a tiny skiff
which suddenly appeared where a moment before had
floated a lily. The magical craft followed its spirit
guide, moving against the tide, impelled by unseen
power, and ever and anon the sprite beckoned him
onward. Soon they entered the river, which here was
deep, broad, and smoothly flowing. Motion ceased
when they were under a high overhanging bank
whose drooping foliage screened them from view.
Here his guide again spuke ;

■f

■I
I

ATMA.

" ' Ask and ye hear, O king, 'tis meet
That mortal want, should be replete
From fulness of immortal state.'

" At once his soul's sadness found voice and he
cried :

" ' Tell me how may my increase in virtue resemble
this river in its onward flow ? '

" Then the spirit answered :

" ' From veiled spring that river sweeps
Whose swelling tides in glory
Roll onward to th' infinite deeps,
It is the soul's own story.'

"Again she beckoned him on, and without effort of
his own he glided over the water until they paused
again where a lotus flower rested on the tide. The
bcv clustered around it, attesting its sweetness, and
when the king bent over it and breathed its odour he
cried :

"*Ah, how shall my piety be pure like the lotus?
and the savour of my virtues spread abroad } '

"And again the sprite replied :

III

•ll!

atut

ATM.I. Ill

'' 'Fairest flowers bloom unseen,
Graces that are manifest
Are of largess less serene ;
Ever veiled things are best.'

" When the eve deepened they were in a forest, a
single star overhead shone through the gloom, and was
reflected in the water. Looking upward the king
asked for the third time :

'• ' How shall the days of my life be glorious and
shine like the stars ? '

" Ere she plunged beneath the flood to vanish for-
ever, his guide answered :

lort of
used
The
and
urhe

lotus'

*' * Love, like the star, the shade of eve,
Seclusion, heavenly rest,
And calm, for these things interweave
The bovvers of the IMest ? '

" The king was now at the river's secret source, and
on the bank above the deep pool he saw a man of a
more princely aspect than any he had ever known.
He stood grand and divine, extending hi., hand with
a most benignant smile, and the story goes that the
king perceived that he held a luminous gem, some

:»«li«W»i,(|»i».«„l,«,j,

112

ATM A.

say a diamond and some an emerald — both stones, as
has often been proved, having magical potency. I can-
not tell what it was, but the king reached out his own
hand to touch it, when instantly, he knew not how, it
seemed that something, a Resolve, a Desire, who can
say what, went from him into the bright orb, bearing
which the creature of light arose through the air,
ascending higher and higher, bearing the jewel which
shone like the everlasting stars. And the king knew
that his soul's life had gone to other regions beyond
the knowledge and speech of men.

'* The magical skiff bore him swiftly down the stream
and disappeared as he stepped from it to his palace.
And tradition has it that his heaviness of heart was
gone from that night, and that his soul increased in
excellence and beauty, but that of its hidden life he
was ever averse to tell."

'1 '

MimttM

riMeaMifX r.

ATM A.

CHAPTER XVI.

When the Nawab had concluded his tale, much dis-
course ensued regarding the unusual occurrences he
had related and their significance.

" And," said the Rajah, who was a lover of verse,
" how true it is that poetry lends an illusive charm to
conceptions ordinary in themselves, like a lovely
screen which bestows a grace on the scantiness it only
half conceals. Poetry hath an advantage over prose."

" But an advantage compensated on the other hand
by the elusiveness of its lightsome spirit, its grace so
easily lost," said a poet who wrote songs for the
pleasure of the Court. ** The charm of poetry," he
said sa,dly, " is too ethereal to live in sordid company,
and perishes oft in the handling that had only
proved the vigour of prose."

It is a primary characteristic of poetry that it can-
not be translated. The most that a translator can
do is to express in another tongue the main thought

114

ATM A.

embodied, and enshrine it in a new poem. I have in
changing some dainty wind-blossom of song from
one dialect to another of the same language wit-
nessed its instant transition into the realms of prose,
and regarded the metamorphosis with the guilty awe
of one who deals unwittingly in baleful magic.

And now they spoke of the marvellous properties
of precious stones, a topic suggested, no doubt, by
the story-teller's mention of a gleaming jewel, and
probably still more by the unspoken anxiety with
which many noted the non-return of the party who
had gone in quest of the Sapphire.

•* The diamond is possessed of many occult powers,"
said a courtier.

" Ay," replied another, " among gems the dia-
mond has greater subtlety than all others."

" I would like," said one, " to wear a circlet of
well-chosen stones to serve as oracle and counsellor.
The opal should assure me of my friend's fealty, the
invisible slaves of the diamond should guard my for-
tunes, the serpent that cast its harmful eye on me
would be blinded by my emerald, for, in fine, I be-

ATMA.

rers,

dia-

let of
kellor.

S the
for-

^n me
1 be-

lieve that vassal genii attend each gem, and obey the
behests of him who holds it."

" The diamond," said the poet, " guards the des-
tinies of lovers."

" Love," said Atma smiling, " is its own security,
for it makes no unwilling captive."

The look of hatred and rage which Lai Singh
darted at him startled the onlookers.

" The worst of sorcerers," said he, " are those who
disclaim the use of enchantment. Success in love,
Atma Singh, means sometimes to die like a dog."

But the Nawab interposed with moderate speech.
" It is," said he, " a wise man who knows the omens
of the future, and is thereby guided."

" The services of a skilful necromancer are greatly
needed at the present," whispered a courtier.

Many of the company were now standing, scan-
ning with anxious gaze the distant horizon. They
looked fara-field, but high overhead the robber looked
down on them. There was the falcon mid-way be-
tween earth and sky. Now it began to sink. Swiftly
it fell, and a cry escaped the lips of the few who
observed it. The bird's keeper was off with the
expedition, but as it reached the earth, a very few

■--..; ■i:j.._r^Ji«Ma*»

ii6

ATMA.

yards from the Rajah's circle, a dozen men were
instantly upon it. Foremost was Atma Singh, his
hand it was that grasped it. It was tired, and stood
on his left wrist with anything but the air of a con-
victed thief, as with head bent sideways it inspected
the throng. Atma strode forward to the Rajah, and
a dismayed cry arose that the Sapphire was lost in-
deed. The bird no longer held it. Atma took no
heed, but advancing made obeisance before Golab
Singh, and extended to him his captive.

*' Your clemency, Maharajah," he said, " for the
truant."

" Had he brought back the Sapphire he might
have gained mercy," said the Rajah, with more anger,
Bertram thought, than he had ever seen him display.
" Take away the knave out of my sight, and des-
patch a horseman at once to the Palace with com-
mand that four hundred men forthwith search all
this plain, with every tree on it and every stream that
crosses it, until they find the jewel."

Lai Singh since his angry outburst had stood
aside, his narrow face contracted, and had not ceased
to watch Atma from the moment when he seized the
falcon. His cunning eyes followed the young Sikh

ATA/A.

Itood
lased
the
Sikh

as he bowed before the Ruler of Kashmir, and now
gliding forward he cringed before Golab Singh, as he
hissed in a voice nearly inarticulate with triumph
and hate, "Maharajah, the plain is wide; before
entering on so extensive an undertaking, order some-
one more trusty than Atma Singh to recover the
stone by searching the leal descendant of the holy
Nanuk ! I, though less lofty of sentiment and aspira-
tion, am filled vvith horror and grief, because I have
perceived him to take the Sapphire from the bird the
moment it touched ground."

The efifect of this charge can hardly be described :
indignation on the part of some, among whom were
Atma's British friends, at what they felt assured must
be a groundless accusation ; suspicion and anger on
the part of others. *' Let him immediately be seized
and searched," commanded the Rajah.

The first part of his command was already obeyed,
and almost before a protest could be uttered, Atma's
arms were bound behind him and Golab Singh's
servants proceeded zealously to search his person.
In silence and with lips compressed, Bertram and his
brother officers looked on whilst he submitted to

fiF4

ii8

ATMA.

this indif;nity, no syllabic escapin^r him from the
moment when he fixed his accusing gaze on his foe.
Hut when a tiny onyx-box of curious workmanship
was produced from the folds of his girdle, and laid
before the Rajah of Kashmir, he did not repeat the
look, although on its appearance Lai uttered an
exulting exclamation.

The onyx-box was all that rewarded the scrutiny
of the Rajah's servants. " Open it ! " he commanded,
and forthwith the fatal casket was unclosed. Golab
Singh, bending over it, inhaled the strong and subtle
odour that had nearly overcome Atma the morning
he received the box from the hands of Nama at the
sacred shrine. The Maharajah turned pale, and
with difficulty recovered his breath. "Miscreant!"
cried the courtiers.

Now a paper was unfolded bearing tht seal and
superscription of the Maharanee Junda Kowr, the
dangerous foe of the British to whom Golab Singh
owed his throne.

" An emissary of the Ranee," cried some.

" A spy," shouted others, while Golab Singh had
thoughts which it would not have been prudent to
utter aloud in that mixed assemblage.

sehsss^s-as::

A TMA.

119

land

the

[ngh

had
it to

" A despatch from the Ranee withheld by this
traitor for who knows what villainous purpose! "

" He shall pay the penalty," he thunder'^d, " be-
fore the sun rise to-morrow. Carry him bound to a
dungeon ! "

Now an Englishman who stood beside him touched
the prisoner on the shoulder. His face had grown
stern, and he narrowly searched Atma's countenance
as he spoke gravely but gently enough. " Have
you no word to say, Atma Singh, w.hen you are
accused of playing so base a conspirator's part against
the life of your host and of your friends ? "

Then Atma spoke and proudly, " No word, Sahib,
which a Sikh may utter."

Excitement prevailed and great consternation-
Englishmen exchanged glances ; plots, they believed,
of an unguessed extent surrounded them. Mussel-
men and Sikhs looked at one another with fierce
suspicion. "Where," their faces asked, 'are his
accomplices .'* " And no look of doubt fell on his de-
nouncer. The Rajah's rage increased every moment>
adding to the commotion which delayed the fulfil-
ment of his commands. To enhance the confusion,
the party of horsemen now returned. They pressed

I20

ATMA.

i I

around, hearing and giving tidings. In the tumult
Bertram reached Atma s side, but before he could
speak, Atma whispered in his ear, " Meet me in the
Moslem Burying ground to-morrow night." Then
with a sudden and strong effort, swift as a bird, he
freed himself from the excited uncertain grasp that
held him, and springing upon r. horse he was off on
the wings of the wind. A score of men scrambled
to their saddles, but they were in confusion, and
their horses were tired, whilst Atma had mounted a
fresh horse just brought forward for his own safe
escort to prison. In the disorder, he gained a few
priceless moments of time, and threading well his
way between the groves that dotted the plain, he
was soon lost to view.

\'\

A7MA.

121

CHAPTER XVII.

How n.fr fs Nf,h, how hushed the scene
^artns teemincT hosts t.-^ k , '

^"ly a chosen ^Q^^J^

The blooming cereus.nd^I^Tr^'"'

^ c(.rtus and the blessed dew

<Jrdained have been

ytc,.ome„,yst,c pledge fulfil.
That loveliest star fades fro„, n,y sf^.t

Leaves the fond presence Of the'd:;- •„,.,,
And softly sink's awhile,

Tf, ,. ^ h'ttle whilo

Its radiance into brief exile

From mournin(,T „i,rht
So sha mv bh-sv^r,,! a . ^

o r •. . -^ DiissUiI flame of life evniro
So fail from IiVh*- n« j . ^--'^pnc,

'^''^' '""^^ '^^e> and life's desire

So pondered Atma in that strange calm th.^^^
an overwhelminjx strol-e .f , "^^^^"^ ^'^^t follows

b '^i-roKe of calamif-xr li.
'••>ht, and tho r« , calamity, it was mid-

^o"nn^r of Jicrtram. TJic

■MM

122

ATMA.

1 1

trees cast long black shadows, and here and there
the monuments gleamed like silver. His mind had
not yet grasped the full enormity of the conspiracy
of which he was the victim, but he knew that the
perfidy of Lai and the loss of the Sapphire meant
death to his hopes of winning victory for the Khalsa.
But his heart was strangely still. He had been wait-
ing since sundown, but he did not doubt his friend,
and interrupted his meditations every now and then
to look expectantly in the direction whence he knev/
he must come. At length a figure emerged from the
darkness and silence at the further end of a long
avenue leading from the entrance, and Atma knew
the form and step grown in those past days of
pleasant intercourse so dear and familiar. He went
to meet his friend ; Bertram's face was graver than
he had known it in the past, and the kindly eyes
were full of questioning.

Atma spoke first, and the joyful tone of his voice
surprised himself. Perhaps he was more hopeful at
heart than he knew.

" My heart was assured that you would come,
Bertram Sahib."

" My English friends," replied Ikrtram, " have left
Jiimmoo, and are now on their way to Lahore, where

BBSS

ATMA.

123

roicc
lul at

lome,

Ic left
Ivhere

I must join them. I could not go without an effort
to meet you here, not only because you bade me,
but I also desired it, for I have been full of distress-
ful perplexity, refusing to doubt you, my friend
whom I have believed leal and true."

" But you are grieved no longer," returned Atma.
" As your eyes meet mine, their sadness vanishes like
the clouds of morning before the light of day."

Bertram smiled. " True, the candour of your in-
genuous gaze does much to reassure me. I gather
from your brief reply to my brother officer that
loyalty to your nation and faith forbids you to speak
openly, but surely this much you can tell me, for I
ask concerning yourself alone : — Can it be that you
who have seemed an embodiment of truth and can-
dour have all this time been contemplating the des-
truction of your host, and my destruction also," he
added slowly, " whose hand has so often been clasped
in yours ? Truth and Purity seemed dear to you, Atma
Singh. Can it be possible that you and I have
together searched into heavenly truth, while one of
us held in his heart the foulest treachery .'' "

•* I know of no treachery to Golab Singh," replied
Atma steadfastly. " As for you, brother of my love,

124

A 7 MA.

Sis

reflect that the dear hope, faint and distant though
it be now, of the triumph of the Khalsa need not
imply disgrace nor disaster to your people, who, un-
willingly at first, burdened themselves with the affairs
of the Punjaub. The later treachery at Mooltan has
been abundantly expiated by the innocent as well
as the guilty."

He stopped abruptly, for a sound like distant sob-
bing broke the stillness. They listened, but it was
not repeated.

" Atma, I believe you. I can perceive your posi-
tion, and how, so unhappily, you have been able to
reconcile insidious intrigue with sentiments of honour
and purity, l^ut I have much to tell you, for I would
warn you against enemies on all sides. Rajah Lai,
for some reason your mortal foe, has convinced
Golab Singh that you connived at his death by
means of the poison discovered in the casket." Here
the Englishman's eyes sought Atma's with sorrowful
question in their blue depths, but he received no
other response than a frank and fearless gaze. " He
accuses you," continued Bertram, " of conspiring to
rob him, Lai Singh, of his bride," Atma started, " for
it seems his betrothal was celebrated during his

ATM A.

125

LIS

recent absence from Kashmir. But T have startled
you, Atma Singh, tell me "

A woman's scream interrupted him. It sounded
near by, and both sprang forward, when Bertram,
recollecting himself, stayed his companion.

*' Halt," he said, "you must remain concealed. I
will go alone if we hear more."

Another shriek rent the air, and he hastened for-
ward, Atma proceeding slowly in the same direction
by a more circuitous way. He was stunned by what
he had just heard. It seemed to him that the shriek
which had broken into the midst of Bcrl:ram's com-
munication had been his own, and that it was being
repeated on all sides. In reality the only sound that
now disturbed the night was the echo of his own and
Bertram's footsteps, the latter hurried and irregular
for the ground was uneven.

A few moments passed and the steps ceased, and
Atma standing still heard a smothered exclamation.
Another voice spoke from a distance angrily, and,
fearing for his friend, he now hastened forward
rapidly, though still cautiously. When he reached the
spot, he found Bertram kneeling beside a prostrate
female form, a small and childlike figure. The veil,

•it

126

ATMA.

torn aside, was stained with blood, and Atma's heart
stood still, for the unconscious form was that of
Moti's little maid. He failed to see Bertram's im-
perative gesture, motioning him back, and Bertram
then spoke in rapid though subdued accents.

'' Go back, I entreat you ; no one will harm me,
but your life is marked "

He had better not have spoken. There was a cry
of fiendish glee and then the report of a gun, and
Bertram fell back with a groan. A shriek of triumph
rose at a distance. " The traitor Atma is dead ! " A
noise of the flying feet of Lai's minions and then
silence. Atma stood alone, With anguished heart
he raised the unconscious head which his own love had
lured to destruction. To his unspeakable joy the eyes
opened, and the loved voice faintly strove to bid him
fly. The effort made him swoon again, and when he
next revived it was to ask for water. Atma ran to a rill
which he had noted before, and speedily returned
with a draught. After drinking, Bertram raised him-
self slightly, and directing his friend's attention to the
body of the servant-maid he whispered :

" With her last breath she bade me search the
tomb." Until now Atma had not observed that

art

im-

ram

me,

I cry
and
imph
" A
then
heart
:had
eyes
him
^en he
iriU
[urned
him-
Ito the

A TMA.

127

they were in the shadow of Sangita's tomb. The
vines were torn from its ancient portal, which hung
open on broken hinge.

" Go," said Bertram, but Atma would first staunch
and bind his wound.

At length he might leave him, and then lifting
the door and the trailing vines aside to allow the
moonlight to penetrate he looked in. A moment
later he had entered. He remained long, so long
that Bertram, uneasy and suffering, called him again
and again, but without response. Half an hour — an
hour passed, and then he feebly and painfully crept
to the doorway of the tomb. He saw Atma prostrate
on the damp sepulchral mould, his face buried in his
hands, and beside him lay still, and cold, and lifeless,
a girl attired in bridal finery, with jewels gleaming
on her dark hair and on her stiffening arms. It was
Moti.

Ah, the worms were gloating.
This is by-and-bye.

:h the
Id that

128

ATMA.

I »'■ u

I '.

■'■:

CHAPTER XVIII.

Far retired in the woody recesses to the south of
Jummoo, thither come by a winding labyrinth of
ways were the fugitives. Bertram, languid and pale,
lay on a couch of moss and leaves built by his friend.
His gaze rested on Atma with compassion, for he
knew that his wound was of the spirit, and he feared
that without a balm the sore must be mortal. The
soul dies sometimes before we say of the man " he is
dead," and at that strange death we shudder lest it
should know no awakening.

Atma sat near by, dumb and unheeding. His fingers
toyed idly with a Pearl, on which he gazed as if
seeing other forms than those about him. For many
hours he was silent, rising at times to proffer food
and water to the wounded man, but oblivious of his
own needs, and only half-conscious that he was not
alone. Daylight faded and stars came out before
he spoke, addressing none and looking away into
silence : —

ATMA.

" O swift-winged Time,
Bearing to what unknown estate,

What silent dime,
The burden of our hopes and fears,

The story of our smiles and tears, '
And hapless fate ?

Those vanished days.
Their golden light can none 'restore ;

Those sovereign rays
That set o'er western seas to-night.
This tranquil moon that shines so bright.

Have paled before
Returning in their time, but, oh !
The golden light of long ago
Returns no more.

This little Pearl,
Of water born, shall year by year

Imprison in its tiny sphere
Those fleeting tints whose mystic strife

And shadowy whirl
Of colour seem a form of life ;

129

130

ATMA.

Nor ever shall their sea-born home

Dissolve in foam ;
But this frail build of love and trust

Will sink to dust."

! 'n

The magnitude of his calamity had dulled the
sharpness of each stroke, and thus it was not of loss
of love, faith and fortune that he spoke, but of the
frailty of life. This is our habit. A ship too richly
freighted goes down, and straightway the owner
laments, not his own deprivation, but that " all flesh
is grass." " Vanity of vanities," he cries, " all is
vanity," and we but guess at his hurt. A mysterious
consciousness is wiser than his reason, and connects
the broken current of his life with a mighty movement
which he knows afar, but cannot tell whether it be of
Time or Eternity. He who designed all, " did not
He make one .^ "

Our days are empty, how should they be otherwise
in a world whose very vanity is infinite }

" Imperial Sorrow loves her sway, or I had sooner
broken your vigil, my brother," said Bertram. " I
perceive that the falsity of life appals your spirit. It
is true that the faint lustre of that tiny orb will long

ATMA.

«3»

Iwise

loner
" I
It
[long

survive these poor frames of ours ; it is a fitting
emblem of the deathless tenant within."

But to Atma it was the symbol of a lost love. He
looked on it listlessly. It seemed a long while since
Moti died, for in his heart joy, and hope, and youth
had died since. The immortal destiny of man, a
belief dear to the Sikh, seemed a thing indifferent.
Death might not be final, but it was yesterday he
mourned, and of it he said : *' it is past."

He knew of the soul's Immortality, but of the
Continuity of Life he had not heard,

Dear Life, cling close, true friend, thro' well or ill,
Mine aye, we cannot part our company.

Though breathing cease and busy heart be still,
Together will we wake eternally.

Strange Life, in whose immeasurable clasp.
The past, the present and the vast to be

Mingle, — O Time, the world is for thy grasp,
I and my life for immortality.

Those bygone hours that were too bright to stay,
And vanished from my sight like morning mist.

Will dawn again, and, ne'er to fade away.
The fleeting moments endlessly exist.

132

ATM A.

The present lives, the past and future twine ;

My h'fe, my days forevermore endure.
My life — it comes I know not whence, but mine

For aye 'twill be, indissolubly sure.

■I

l^^B''

When the night drew on, Atma went away. In
thought Bertram followed him, full of sad soHci-
tude.

He strode along the heights. The cooling air and
the sense of isolation were grateful to his worn spirit.
He wandered far until he found himself in a rocky
fortress, vast, black and terrible. The lowering peaks
above inclined their giant heads to one another in
awful conclave, and the ghastly moonbeams pierced
to the gloom below, where they enwrapped the lonely
form of Atma in a phosphorescent glare. The winds
broke among the cliffs, and with shrieks and fearful
laughter proclaimed the dark councils of the peaks,
and in the din were heard mutterings and impre-
cations. A transport seized the soul of Atma. The
horrible glee of the night awoke wrath, and he hurled
defiance to the mocking winds.

A TMA.

'3J

, In

iolici-

r and
spirit,
rocky
peaks
ler in
ierced
onely
winds
'earful
eaks,
mpre-
The
urled

*' What ! are th' infernal powers moved for me,
Th^t all the hosts of hell me welcome give,
And claim me comrade in their revelry ?
Abhorrent things, I am not yours, I live,
I know I live because I think on death!
I live, dead things, to revel among tombs,
A ghoul, henceforth I feast on buried joys,
My soul the burial-place, where lie, beneath
A fearful night of cries and hellish spumes,
My lovely youth with jovial convoys,
Hopes, happy-eyed, and linked solaces.
And in the lapse of hateful years they will —
My guileless joys, my rose-hucd memories —
Corrupt and rot and turn to venomed ill.

O cherished dreams of Truth ! O sacred bond

Unlovely grown ! O faith so mutable !

Shades of my fathers, not august but fond !

How hollow were the darlings of my dream !

But she, O Lotus- flower, my promised bride,

Star of my youth, my pure unspotted dove !

Again I see her in her gentle pride,

Her starry eyes meet mine with melting beam ;

Unsightly grief approach not near my Love,

Flee from her presence, O thou gaunt Despair,

Good Time, embalm her daintily and fair.

Link her sweet fame with hymns and fragrancy,

And happy stars, and blissful utterance,

;ll

'34

ATMA.

And with all transports that immortal be.
Fold her, Food Tirr e, from my remembrance,
O. this is bitterest mortality,
That living heart of love should be the urn
Where lie the ashes of our joys that turn
To bitterness, and all our lives o'erflow
Till dearest love be grown a hateful woe ;
My sun of youth has set, methinks it should
Have set with such a splendour as had all
My sober days with mellow light imbued ;
O bitter sun of youth whose knavish pledge
Of high-born hope and holy privilege
But led me undefended to my fall,

0 lamentable day when I was born !

What shapes are those that mock me with their scorn ?
What trumpet-call is this within my breast ?

1 am grown wi-^^e, my senses are increased,

It is the breath of fiends that drowns my speech,
The bellowing of devils as they feast.
1 am the taunt of devils, and they preach
Of death, of cursing, and of endless woe ;
The lightnings of this devil-tempest show
Horrors not dreamed of

O thou Vengeful Power,
1 am forspent, if merit there can be
In self accusing, in this darkest hour
( ) hear me, and I pray thee pity me,

For I have sinned, O fool, unwise and blind •
And I am Atma, whom thou hadst designed
l^or hfe of sanctity and holy quest.
Lord, I am Atma, and I have transgressed •
i sought the Present whom we may not seek
Ihe Initure whom I slighted went before
And waited armed and my goods did take,
lliis IS my sin that sent on high behest

i'lf^^j ^?'^' ^' ^''^ '^^'^"^ ^^ ^^y golden door
A hundred years, and snatched a little rest

And waked to see the closing gateway drawn

And lived thereafter only in the dawn

Of that brief moment's light, so also I

Must dream of wasted radiance till I die."

li'

136

A 7 MA.

J- ,

ill

•i 'A

■ i ^

CHAPTER XIX.

The quiet days were passing slowly. Bertram's
wound did not heal, and his streni^th grew less. The
unseen powers that throng the air and watch our
ways arranged about him the phantasmagoria of
dissolution. It was the waning of the moon. A
tender mist, which had long veiled a mountain crest,
now unfolded its depths and was wafted away. A
star shot across the welkin and was no more seen.
Summer blossoms fided with the dying season. The
music of the pine-boughs had a more melancholy
cadence, and birds of passage took their flight.
Atma marked these things, and often withdrew to
lament.

One evening they watched the sh idows lengthen-
ing. y\tma's heart was oppressed, but Bertram
looked on the shifting scene with happy undaunted
smile. In voice pathetic only from mortal weakness
and strong with immortality he said ;

ATMA.

'•When mists and dreams and shadows flee
And happy hills so far and high
«end low in benedicite,

Unowthebreakofdayisnigh.
Thus ,,ave I watched in daisied mead

A grayer heaven bending low.
And heard the music of a brook

in meet response more softly flow
Unt,l at mystic signal given

From realn, entranced the spell was riven.
J he sunbeams glanced,
The wavelets danced
And gladness spread fron, ear;h to heaven.

Tliis little flower
i^ight bravely blooming at my feet
So dainty, sweet,

Har missed the spirit of the hour,
f;; ' "^V'>'= '«"der calyx thrills.
It feels the silence of the hills,
Behold it droops, in haste to be
At one with that hushed company.-

At ma :
" Not day. but night, beloved friend,
Long doleful night
The shadows of the eve portend."

'37

I3«

A 7 MA.

Bertram

" Watcher unseeing ! what of the night!
'Tis past and gone.
I know th' advance and joy of light !
Look how for it all things put on
Such hues as in comparison
The earth and sky to darkness turn,
Hues of the sard, and chrysolite
And sapphire herald in the morn."

Atmd :

*' Ah ! woe is me for day so quickly past,
For morning fled, and noontide unexpressed.

Bertram :

*' The subtly-quickening breath of morn
my inmost being is borne,
And I behold th' unearthly train
Of solemn splendours that pertain

To seraph state,
Such as our glories symbolize.
They sweep in countless bright convoys
Athwart my blissful view, they seem
Completion of all pleasure known
Or loved, and of our fairest dream
End and interpretation."

Atmd :

139

140

A 7 MA.

.?!:

1 '

CHAPTER XX.

Death, whether it be day or night, overtook Ber-
tram in the mountain fastness, and Atma knew
once more that the human soul is lonely, which he
had been fain to doubt or deny in the pleasant delu-
sion of friendship. He lived alone, and, after a while,
with returning mental health, he sometimes gave way
to bitter reflection on these, his wasted days, though
knowing himself unable still to take up the broken
thread of active existence. But, growing stronger,
he was at last able to perceive that this apparently
barren season was the best harvest time of his life,
for, adrift from human ties and from religions, he was
at last alone with God. His battles were sore to
fight, the solid earth seemed gone from beneath his
feet, and the heavens were become an illusion. There
was a time when he cried out that " all men are liars,"
as we have all cried, but the instinct of the soul hap-
pily arrested him then. Happily, for it is strangely
true that he who loses faith in man will soon lose

ATM A.

•4«

faith m God. It is as if tlie great lieart of ti.c Race
recoihng from suicidal impulse, warned the individual
from treason against his kind_a suggestion of the
"mty underlying all created things. This the best
rel.g.ons have known, and have founded on it a law
that he who loves God must love his brother also
Apprehending this, Atma grew again in heart to for-
give his fellowmen who had so sorely sinned against
h.m, and, musing on their ways he pitied them, and
knew that the true attitude towards humanity is one
°f P'ty. He pitied men in their crimes, in their un-
behefs and in their faiths, and presently he .saw in
these fa,ths which he had decried a spiritual beauty
H.S own creed, grown hateful to him as the vainest
of delusmns, reasserted its claims to reverence, and
the voice that had cried to his childhood out of the
desert of silence and mystery that surrounds every
human soul spoke to him again as a voice of inspira-
.on. Every man's faith is the faith of his fathers,
the fa,th learned on his mothers knee. He, who
."creasing knowledge, discerns the different degrees
o darkness that characteri^e our religious theories,
and chooses for himself one fron, among them in-
creases his soufs sorrow, for our light is darkness, and

142

ATMA.

God is not to be found for searching. " It is not by
our feet or change of place that men leave Thee nor
return unto Thee." The quietness of habit is more
conducive to spirituality than the progress whose gain
is so infinitesimal, and whose heavy price is the destruc-
tion of the habit of faith. It is better to believe a false-
hood than to doubt a truth. The habitual attitude
of the soul, its upward gaze, is more important than
the quality of the veil through which it discerns the
Eternal. During the days when Atma lived without
the religion which was so mortal that it died in his
heart because he found that its friends were false, he
knew God, for this veil was removed, and when the
weakness of human nature again demanded the sup-
port of habit and formula, he turned to the mystic
rites and prayers endeared and hallowed by associa-
tion, but he knew now that God is a spirit, for spirit
with spirit had met. A silence, born of great rever-
ence, rested upon him, and he no more clamoured to
save the world. The fall of the Khalsa no longer
meant the downfall of God, and in time even the
heartache for the vanquishment of his early dreams
disappeared.

'ITMA.

I«

but frozen hps and closed eyes can speak with ,

And so the n.ght of h/s mourning was long, but the
ongest n.ght has a dawn, and it seen,s to „,e t^a

he.o ngd._,^„,^„^,^^^^^^^^

And v''' '"'' ' ' ""''"^^ '° ^-^^' —vs.

And so this story of religion that called itself

heaven y and love that was most mortal, is ov

Atma had had of earth's most beautiful things,

" ^ L°ve, Religion, Music—all
That's left of Eden upon earth, "-

but no-Love and Religion are not left.

THE END.

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