“One sought,” said he, “the cave where dwelt a holy hermit of great reputation for wisdom and learning.  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 material and constitution of the soul?  Where are laid the bones of Seth?  What bounds the credulity of mankind?  These and many more did the Wise answer in difficult words whose sound carried conviction.  ‘He knows all things,’ thought the inquirer, ’I need not to ply him with riddles to whom all things are plain.  I will rather seek counsel for myself concerning what lies at hand.’  With that he put the question, ‘What think you of human life?’ The hermit, who had halted hitherto at no question, arose, turned him about, and in silence withdrew to the depths of his grotto."[2]

“Proving,” laughed the Rajah, “that he added the virtue of discretion to his multiform merits.  But we turn not our backs on the question until my illustrious guest Atma Singh of the blood of the Holy Nanuk further expound the nature of life.”

All turned to Atma.  The frivolity of the Rajah was distasteful to him in connection with so grave a theme.  His eyes involuntarily sought the glance of the young Englishman who had spoken.  He was an officer in the British army and his name was Bertram.  His expressive face kindled with kindly grace as the young Sikh claimed sympathy with him in his view of life as a battlefield.

“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 discomfiture.  Others looked coldly on Atma and muttered with discontent—­

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

Footnote: 

[2] I have taken the liberty here of altering a well-known fable whose authorship I do not know.

CHAPTER XI.

Rajah Lal Singh arrived at Jummoo a few weeks later in much pomp and state.  No hidden or hazardous mission was his.  His gorgeous train of armed attendants mounted on richly caparisoned horses traversed the public roads, winding like a brilliant serpent through the vales of Kashmir.  He brought tidings of the daily increasing quiet and peace now resting on the torn and war-spent Punjaub.  Festivities were heightened after his arrival, and revelry held sway day and night.