THE WISDOM OF OUR LORD GANESH

THE WISDOM OF OUR LORD GANESH

"The wisdom of Sri Ganêsh--the wisdom of our Lord Ganêsh."^[1]

Through and through my fever-drugged brain the words came, compelling, insistent; forcing me away from reality, forcing me back into the past. Yet I knew perfectly where I was; I remembered distinctly that having felt unusually tired after rather a hot day's march I had pitched the little tente d'abri--which was my home during a sketching tour in Wales--rather closer to the main road than I generally did, and had thereinafter promptly succumbed to an unmistakable go of fever and ague, a half-forgotten legacy left behind by many years of Indian life.

Yes, I could remember distinctly the bramble-and-nut-hidden quarry hole, with its little inner sward of sweet sheep-bitten grass where I had pitched the tent. I knew that if I were to call, someone of the rumbling cart wheels, which came at intervals along the road, might stop and seek for the caller; but I lay still. I was hard-happed round and round with the curious content which comes as the chills and the aches are passing into the fire flood of fever that thrills the finger-tips and sets the brain fizzling like champagne.

"The wisdom of Sri Ganêsh--the wisdom of our Lord Ganêsh."

Why on earth should that haunt me here in Wales? on a piece, no doubt, of Nat Gwynne's property.

Nat Gwynne! Then I knew. It was because I had seen him in the distance that day, driving a pair of grey ponies, tandem, with a pretty young girl beside his coarse, heavy, good looks; heavier than they had been, though, heaven knows! refinement had never stood much in his way. And they were to be married to-morrow! Married to Gwynne of Garthgwynne! Couldn't anyone tell her what she was doing? Couldn't anyone save her, as the wisdom of Sri Ganêsh had saved that other one?...

And then in a second I was gone. I was under the brassy blue sky of India, and from the twisted tufts of marsh-grasses by the elephant's feet came a native beater's lament--"As God sees me it is invisible--what a tyranny is here."

"Bid Ganêsh seek," said Nat Gwynne's voice, imperatively from the howdah from which we were both shooting. He was in a Lancer regiment cantooned in the native State where for many years I had been consulting engineer.

The mahout, seated on the big brute's neck, turned calmly. "It is against the orders that Sri Ganêsh, King of Elephants and Lord of Wisdom, should touch carrion even of the Huzoor's."

I looked at my old friend Mahadeo with astonishment. He and I had been out on Ganêsh, the Rajah's finest elephant, scores of times, and again and again the cunning old rogue's inquisitive trunk had nosed out and up a partridge or snipe which the coolies had failed to find.

"He hath a scent like a bed of roses," old Mahadeo would say proudly, "and as for wisdom! Doth he not hold the Huzoor even as his own mahout?"

Which delicate piece of flattery was true, for old Ganêsh, pad elephant to the bankrupt young scoundrel of a Rajah, had taken a fancy to me, as elephants do take fancies.

So, seeing at a glance that something lay beneath the surface of the bitter hatred in the dark face, and the wild, wicked rage of the white one, I said, quickly. "Seek! my brother!"

Ganêsh swayed forward, his trunk curling like a snake, his wicked little eyes alert, a faint frou-frou of a blowing sound seeming to quiver the grasses; and there, grasped softly in the prehensile end was a dead jack snipe! As he put it deferentially and politely into my outstretched hand I seemed to catch a contemptuous flicker in his eye, as who would say, "What an amount of fuss about such a very little piece of pork," as the Jew said when a thunderstorm found him eating sausage.

But that it was not a little piece of pork between those two, still glaring at each other, was evident.

Mahadeo's usually gentle face had taken on a stony stare that held in it something of limitless power; while Nat Gwynne's anger was almost obscured by sheer disgust at having to keep his hands off another man's servant.

"By God!" he cried. "It's lucky for you, you pig, that I'm not your master--but--but I'll try to be--I'll buy this big brute when they sell the bankrupt State up next month, and I'll buy you, curse you, and I'll ..."

"Do hold your tongue, Gwynne," I said to him in a low voice, for his temper was notorious, and once he lost control over himself he would often behave like a madman. As, indeed, he had every right to be, since the record of the Gwynnes of Garthgwynne was a black one.

Mahadeo, however, supplied the return to calm.

"The Huzoor is mast," he said to me, rapidly in low contemptuous Hindustani, turning the while to sit, immovable as ever, a mere head and trunk of a man, all else being hidden by the elephant's great shields of ears. "He is as the beasts that perish. And Ganêsh, too, nears his time of power--" he pointed to the great head he bestrode where, oozing apparently from a slight hollow in the skin a few drops of ichor showed, half hardened into amber, "so let those who would harm him--or his friends beware!"

But there was nothing of which to be beware thereinafter, for all became peace. How hot the sun was! And the guns, too! Almost too hot to hold. But how cool it was in the camp down in a mango-grove beside a tank with great cane brakes stretching away into the stars under the moonlight! And how peaceful! How one slept, and slept, and slept, drowsed to dreamlessness by the great peace of the immovable shadows, the greater peace of the light behind them....

Ye powers above! What was that? Even now, remembering it, all was as it had seemed then. Shadow on light, light on shadow ... a curse, a cry ... something young and slim fleeing, half in light, half in shadow! Then a sudden trumpet, a rattle as of chained front feet, one little sob....

How steadily the moonlight shone through the branches on that small upturned face which was all Ganêsh's feet had spared.

"Who? What?" I gasped, uncomprehending, staring stupidly at Mahadeo on his knees beside the dead girl, at Gwynne, still dressed, the buttons on his mess jacket glittering like diamonds, his face all working with horror and dismay. But there was no room for anything but the old man's voice, quiet, restrained:

"She was my granddaughter, Huzoor. But a light thing. She must have gone too near the King of Elephants, being as this slave said, near to his time of power. What then? It is the wisdom, of our Lord Ganêsh! The wisdom of Sri Ganêsh!"

The sound of his voice died away softly, and the wind carried it further, and further, and further....

Such an odd wind! Soft, warm, with a faint perfume in it, blowing on my hands, my face. And behind it a familiar sighing sound with the echo of a chuckle in it....

Was it possible? I started up, my brain in a whirl. Did I, or did I not see in the moonbeam which stole through a chink in the tent flap, something sinuous, that curved and bent caressingly? And beyond it, where the flap divided, was or was that not a rough image of the Elephant Headed God of Wisdom painted in hot ochres on an elephant's fore front? I was out of the blankets in a second, flinging back the tent flaps with a delirious laugh. Aye! It was true! Earth and air alike seemed blocked by a huge mass of flesh that quivered all over with delight. Come! this was something like a fever dream! To have an Indian Rajah's pad elephant to ride on--to go whither you would for a fresh breeze--to cool your brain.

"Baito, Ganêsh! Baito!" I cried, giving the familiar order; but the next instant my vaingloriousness ended in a shiver, almost of fear, as the brute obeyed, sinking noiselessly and laying its trunk, curled round to protect itself against injury, ready for me to mount.

Scarcely knowing what I did I caught familiarly at the big drooping ears, I felt the trunk beneath my feet tilted gingerly to aid me, and there I was, my head reeling madly, in the old familiar place!

But around me? Around me half Wales, bathed in broad moonlight, lay peaceful; with, in the distance, a faint shimmer telling of the sea--the far sea that still seemed to sound in my ears as if, indeed, I lay upon its very shore listening to the break and burden of the waves which came from far away--so very far away.

I think the effort must have made me relapse into unconsciousness, for the next thing I remember is finding myself propped up by pillows in the howdah, and hearing a familiar voice break in upon the ceaseless fall of the waves which filled my ears.

And from the voice I gathered vaguely that it was not a dream at all. This was indeed Ganêsh, who had been sold because of his great height to an English showman, and this was no other than old Mahadeo, who would not leave his charge, and had come over the black water, also, where there was nothing good to be had save rum; rum that kept the cold out on these chill September nights when Ganêsh had to do his marches from town to town, since the sight of an elephant might frighten the traffic by day. There was evidently some of that rum still in the old man's voice as he chid Ganêsh glibly for having been restive and thrown his unsteady mahout on the road. But then had not the animal always loved the Huzoor, even as his master? And must he not have nosed him out as he passed, the Lord of Elephants having, as ever, a scent as of rose gardens? Which was as well, since now the Huzoor would be able to get a doctor-sahib and medicine....

I tried to understand, but it was hard to get at anything with fever raging in one's brain, while the rhythmic roll of the elephant's pace as we lilted away over half Wales seemed to blend with the fall of those waves from very far away. Once I remember asking how many couple of snipe we had killed. After that Mahadeo furtively brought out a bottle and gave me something fiery which seemed to do me good, though he muttered to himself that he could but do his best--his was not the wisdom of Sri Ganêsh.

"You--you shouldn't say that to me, you--you old fool," I murmured, weakly. "You should say it as you said to--to--to Gwynne-sahib--Gwynne-sahib, who is going to be married to-morrow--don't you know? Such a pretty girl--such a very pretty girl--such a poor, pretty girl...."

I don't know quite what I said; I am glad, indeed, not to be able to remember, but I have a vague recollection of becoming a trifle maudlin, and finally of pointing out, amid a cloud-like shadow of trees that lay on the far horizon, the position--or thereabouts--of Garthgwynne, whither the young bride was to be led the next evening.

Now, in all this, as I recount it from a blurred, fever-stricken memory, allowance must be made for illusion. I don't know if it really happened, I can only vouch for my belief that I actually saw and did these things. I think now, therefore, that I fell asleep, always with that recurring fall of distant waves in my ear, until I woke suddenly to a loud hilarious burst of half-drunken laughter.

"Stop him! Hie! Gone away! Hello! Gwynne! Pity the bride! If you don't go to bed there'll be no wedding day! Yoicks! Poor devil! wants to escape the halter. Hie! You there! Best man! You're bound to bring him up sober."

We were in the deep shadow of the famous cedar trees, and one look at the old house beyond the lawn was enough for recognition. Yes! it was Plas Garthgwynne, favoured of picture postcards, favoured of wild, wicked romance and legend. It was all blazing with lights, so, despite the waning of the moon, I could see--clustering at the door and dispersed over the gravel sweep--the mad rush of Gwynne of Garthgwynne's last bachelor party as it tumbled tipsily in chase of a reeling figure that came straight towards us across the lawn to lose itself in the opposite shadows.

And then a hard feminine voice dominated the uproar:

"Leave him alone, you fools! The night air will sober him; and if it doesn't, there's no hurry to carry on the breed."

Something of brutal truth behind the brutal coarseness of the remark fell like a wet blanket over the half-fuddled guests; some of them picked themselves up moodily from the gravel, others found stability from friends, and so they drifted in unsteadily, dominated once more by that hard, feminine, unwomanly voice asserting that if he didn't crawl back to burrow in a quarter-of-an-hour, she'd send the butler to look for him.

And thereinafter came quiet; while one by one the glittering windows of the house sank to darkness.

And yet it was not dark, after all, surely? Or was there a curious halo of light emanating from old Mahadeo's head; a halo which distorted him somehow, which piled his low turban into a high tiara, and made his nose show long, so long--almost as long as the Elephant-Faced God-of-Wisdom ... in the Indian shrines....

Ah! There he was!...

Gwynne of Garthgwynne, standing on a bit of open beyond the shadow--behind him a grey shimmer of mere set thick with water lilies--his legs very wide apart, his watch in his hand--it had some electric appliance about it, and the feeble light streaming upwards showed his face full of hard, soul-revealing lines. What a face!--the face of a devil let loose--set free from the fetters of conventional life.

"Two o'clock," he muttered. "Well! whats'h a--matter. Sh'upposin' am drunk she'll have to put up--Gwynne Garthgwynne, d--mn her--my wife--mother of Gwynne's-Garth ..."

"Forward, Sri Ganêsh!" The order came soft but swift, and we were out of the shadows. What was it out of the shadows, also--out of the Dim Shadows which shroud Life in the Beginning and the End, which caught me irresistibly, making me say sharply as one who has waited long, "Come along, Gwynne! do--there's a good fellow."

For an instant surprise seemed to struggle with satisfaction in his drink-sodden brain. The tall, heavy figure swayed, lurched. I could see its every detail, the very buttons on the mess jacket--worn doubtless out of bravado this last evening of bachelorhood--shone, as they had done that night years ago amid the shadow and shine of the mango-tôpe; for a radiance seemed to have sprung from earth and sky in which nothing could be hidden.

Then suddenly came his old reckless, half-insane burst of laughter. "Come," he echoed, drunkenly, "Why--why--shno't? Whatsh' larks--chursh, fl'rs joll'--lit'--bride--no bridegroom!--joll'--good'--larks'h, eh! Off to Phildelp'ia in the mornin'--see th'other one--joll'--lit' one. Bait, you pig, Ganêsh! Bait!"

It all passed like a flash of lightning. The elephant was down and up again, and the last thing I remember was hearing Gwynne of Garthgwynne's drunken voice say, "Hello! old Mahadeo, eh! Well! go it, ol' man. Givs'h some of--wish-dom--Shri Ganêsh--eh--what?"

When I roused again it was dawn; pale primrose dawn over a cloudless sea.

It was the strange wind that roused me, the soft, warm wind that passed over my face and sought something else--and found it. Soft as a snake the elephant's trunk found the drunken man's neck as he lay asleep, half hanging out of the cushioned howdah, and closed on it. The sight drove the blur from my mind, and in an instant I saw all things clearly.

We were on the very edge of a high cliff. Below us lay the scarce dawn-lit waters of the calm sea. But between me and that tender distant sky, what form was this with triple crown and wise stern human eyes looking out of an animal's face?

Wisdom itself! Wisdom come to judgment.

There was a moment's pause. I clung to the howdah's side as if turned to stone. I seemed to know what was coming--to realise the verdict which that ultimate wisdom must give. Then in a clarion voice the words came:

"By the order of the Lord Ganêsh, kill."

The softness, the tenderness of the snaky coil, so sensitive that the finest thread in God's world can scarce escape it, changed suddenly to iron. There was no cry, no struggle. Gwynne of Garthgwynne's body swung high in air, then, flung from it with all leviathan's strength, fell, and fell, and fell ...

* * * * *

When the roaring of the distant sea ceased in mine ears about a fortnight afterwards, I found that the nine days' wonder of Gwynne of Garthgwynne's disappearance on his wedding night had died down. He had rushed out rollicking drunk--that all knew. He had not returned. The butler sent out to seek for him had sought other seekers, but all in vain. They were still dragging the mere for him, but the flood gates of the river (of which it was a backwater) had been open that night, and the body might have drifted out to sea. So there had been no wedding, and a distant heir, barely related to the old stock, was ready to take possession so soon as doubt was over. As for me, the early postman, attracted by my moaning, had found me half-in and half-out of my blankets in the tente d'abri behind the bramble screen of the quarry.

Was it then all a dream? Even if it were not ...

Was it not the wisdom of our Lord Ganêsh?

I decided, at last, to say nothing about that dream of a marvellous moonlight ride on an elephant over half Wales. Twinges of conscience assailed me at times, but they were laid to rest for ever about Christmas-tide, when, going through a small town in the Midlands, I was met, in passing a new cottage hospital on its environs, by a glad cry-- "The very man I want! I've got a poor soul here who won't die. He ought really to have been at peace two days ago--but he goes on and on. You see, he's an Indian or something, and we can't speak the lingo--you can, I expect?"

I followed the doctor, with whom I had a slight acquaintance, into the ward, with a foreboding at my heart. I knew it was old Mahadeo, and that, indeed, he wanted me. And it was. He lay tucked up between clean sheets on an English bed with two English hospital nurses fadding about him, speechless, gasping, at the very point and spit of death, yet waiting--waiting ...

I knew what he wanted, and without a word, his dark eyes following me in dim gladness, I threw back the clothes and got a firm grip of the sheet at his head. He should at least die as a Hindu should die. "Now, doctor!" I said, "if you'll take the feet we will let him find freedom outside."

A nurse started forward. "But the case is pneumonia--double pneumonia----"

The doctor hesitated; they always are in the hands of the nurses.

"Look here, Jones," I cried, sharply. "This man doesn't want clinical thermometers, and draw-sheets, and caps. He wants freedom. He wants to die as his religion tells him he must die, on Mother Earth--aye--even if her bosom is white with snow."

And it was, for it was Christmas-tide.

So we lifted him out, the doctor and I, and laid him down on Heaven's white quilt. He just rolled over, face down, into the cool pillow.

"Râm-Râm--Sita-Râm," I whispered, kneeling beside him to give the last dying benediction of his race. Such a quaint one! Only the name of what to it, is superman and superwoman. A last appeal to the higher instincts of humanity.

There was one little sob. I thought I heard the beginning of the old refrain:

"The wisdom of our Lord Ganêsh----" Then he had found freedom.

"You seem to know their ways, sir," said a horsey-looking man who had come in with us and who had evidently something to do with the show. "So, if you could give us a 'elp with this pore fellar's beast, I'd be obliged. Hasn't touched food this ten days--never since the old man took worse, and a elephant, sir, is a dead loss to a show. The master lef' 'im here with me, but I'm blowed if I can do nothing with him."

I found Ganêsh happier than his master, for, no place being large enough for him, he lay in the open; but they had stretched a tarpaulin over him like a rick-cover, as a protection.

A glance told me he was far gone, though he lay crouched, not prone; his trunk--marvellous agent for good or ill--stretched out before him beyond shelter into the snow.

As I came up to him, I fancied I saw a flicker in his eyes, those eyes so small, so full of wisdom. Then I laid in front of him the old man's turban, ragged, worn, which I had begged of the prim nurses. In a second the whole, huge, inert mass of flesh became instinct with life. He rose to his feet with incredible swiftness, and softly encircling the old ragged pugree, raised it gently and placed it in the master's seat. For a moment I doubted what would come next; but the instinct which is held in leviathan's small brain is great. He knew by some mysterious art that the master was dead, that the human mind which had been his guide was gone.

He took one step forward, threw up his trunk, and the echoes of the surrounding houses cracked with the roaring bellow of his trumpet as he swayed sideways and fell dead.

That was all the little smug provincial English town ever knew of the

"Wisdom of our Lord Ganêsh."