Books: Hira Singh
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Talbot Mundy >> Hira Singh
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After a time, as our wounded began to be drafted back to us from
hospital, we were made to listen to accounts of alleged great German
victories. They told us the German army was outside Paris and that
the whole of the British North Sea Fleet was either sunk or
captured. They also said that the Turks in Gallipoli had won great
victories against the Allies. We began to wonder why such conquerors
should seek so earnestly the friendship of a handful of us Sikhs.
Our wounded began to be drafted back to us well primed, and their
stories made us think, but not as the Germans would have had us
think.
Week after week until the spring came we listened to their tales by
day and talked them over among ourselves at night; and the more they
assured us Ranjoor Singh was working with them in Berlin, the more
we prayed for opportunity to prove our hearts. Spring dragged along
into summer and there began to be prayers for vengeance on him. I
said less than any. Understanding had not come to me fully yet, but
it seemed to me that if Ranjoor Singh was really playing traitor,
then he was going a tedious way about it. Yet it was equally clear
that if I should dare to say one word in his behalf that would be to
pass sentence on myself. I kept silence when I could, and was
evasive when they pressed me, cowardice struggling with new
conviction in my heart.
There came one night at last, when men's hearts burned in them too
terribly for sleep, that some one proposed a resolution and sent the
word whispering from hut to hut, that we should ask for Ranjoor
Singh to be brought to us. Let the excuse be that he was our
rightful leader, and that therefore he ought to advise us what we
should do. Let us promise to do faithfully whatever Ranjoor Singh
should order. Then, when he should have been brought to us, should
he talk treason we would tear him in pieces with our hands. That
resolution was agreed to. I also agreed. It was I who asked the next
day that Ranjoor Singh be brought. The German officer laughed; yet I
asked again, and he went away smiling.
We talked of our plan at night. We repeated it at dawn. We whispered
it above the bread at breakfast. After breakfast we stood in groups,
confirming our decision with great oaths and binding one another to
fulfillment--I no less than all the others. Like the others I was
blinded now by the sense of our high purpose and I forgot to
consider what might happen should Ranjoor Singh take any other line
than that expected of him.
I think it was eleven in the morning of the fourth day after our
decision, when we had all grown weary of threats of vengeance and of
argument as to what each individual man should do to our major's
body, that there was some small commotion at the entrance gate and a
man walked through alone. The gate slammed shut again behind him.
He strode forward to the middle of our compound, stood still, and
confronted us. We stared at him. We gathered round him. We said
nothing.
"Fall in, two deep!" commanded he. And we fell in, two deep, just as
he ordered.
"'Ten-shun!" commanded he. And we stood to attention.
Sahib, he was Ranjoor Singh!
He stood within easy reach of the nearest man, clothed in a new
khaki German uniform. He wore a German saber at his side. Yet I
swear to you the saber was not the reason why no man struck at him.
Nor were there Germans near enough to have rescued him. We, whose
oath to murder him still trembled on our lips, stood and faced him
with trembling knees now that he had come at last.
We stood before him like two rows of dumb men, gazing at his face. I
have heard the English say that our eastern faces are impossible to
read, but that can only be because western eyes are blind. We can
read them readily enough. Yet we could not read Ranjoor Singh's that
day. It dawned on us as we stared that we did not understand, but
that he did; and there is no murder in that mood.
Before we could gather our wits he began to speak to us, and we
listened as in the old days when at least a squadron of us had loved
him to the very death. A very unexpected word was the first he used.
"Simpletons!" said he.
Sahib, our jaws dropped. Simpletons was the last thing we had
thought ourselves. On the contrary, we thought ourselves astute to
have judged his character and to have kept our minds uncorrupted by
the German efforts. Yet we were no longer so sure of ourselves that
any man was ready with an answer.
He glanced over his shoulder to left and right. There were no
Germans inside the fence; none near enough to overhear him, even if
he raised his voice. So he did raise it, and we all heard.
"I come from Berlin!"
"Ah!" said we--as one man. For another minute he stood eying us,
waiting to see whether any man would speak.
"We be honest men!" said a trooper who stood not far from me, and
several others murmured, so I spoke up.
"He has not come for nothing," said I. "Let us listen first and pass
judgment afterward."
"We have heard enough treachery!" said the trooper who had spoken
first, but the others growled him down and presently there was
silence.
"You have eyes," said Ranjoor Singh, "and ears, and nose, and lips
for nothing at all but treachery!" He spoke very slowly, sahib. "You
have listened, and smelled for it, and have spoken of nothing else,
and what you have sought you think you have found! To argue with men
in the dark is like gathering wind into baskets. My business is to
lead, and I will lead. Your business is to follow, and you shall
follow." Then, "Simpletons!" said he again; and having said that he
was silent, as if to judge what effect his words were having.
No man answered him. I can not speak for the others, although there
was a wondrous maze of lies put forth that night by way of
explanation that I might repeat. All I know is that through my mind
kept running against my will self-accusation, self-condemnation,
self-contempt! I had permitted my love for Ranjoor Singh to be
corrupted by most meager evidence. If I had not been his enemy, I
had not been true to him, and who is not true is false. I fought
with a sense of shame as I have since then fought with thirst and
hunger. All the teachings of our Holy One accused me. Above all,
Ranjoor Singh's face accused me. I remembered that for more than
twenty years he had stood to all of us for an example of what Sikh
honor truly is, and that he had been aware of it.
"I know the thoughts ye think!" said he, beginning again when he had
given us time to answer and none had dared. "I will give you a real
thought to put in the place of all that foolishness. This is a
regiment. I am its last surviving officer. Any regiment can kill its
officers. If ye are weary of being a regiment, behold--I am as near
you as a man's throat to his hand! Have no fear"--(that was a bitter
thrust, sahib!)--"this is a German saber; I will use no German steel
on any of you. I will not strike back if any seek to kill me."
There was no movement and no answer, sahib. We did not think; we
waited. If he had coaxed us with specious arguments, as surely a
liar would have done, that would probably have been his last speech
in the world. But there was not one word he said that did not ring
true.
"I have been made a certain offer in Berlin," said he, after another
long pause. "First it was made to me alone, and I would not accept
it. I and my regiment, said I, are one. So the offer was repeated to
me as the leader of this regiment. Thus they admitted I am the
rightful leader of it, and the outcome of that shall be on their
heads. As major of this regiment, I accepted the offer, and as its
major I now command your obedience."
"Obedience to whom?" asked I, speaking again as it were against my
will, and frightened by my own voice.
"To me," said he.
"Not to the Germans?" I asked. He wore a German uniform, and so for
that matter did we all.
"To me," he said again, and he took one step aside that he might see
my face better. "You, Hira Singh, you heard Colonel Kirby make over
the command!"
Every man in the regiment knew that Colonel Kirby had died across my
knees. They looked from Ranjoor Singh to me, and from me to Ranjoor
Singh, and I felt my heart grow first faint from dread of their
suspicion, and then bold, then proud that I should be judged fit to
stand beside him. Then came shame again, for I knew I was not fit.
My loyalty to him had not stood the test. All this time I thought I
felt his eyes on me like coals that burned; yet when I dared look up
he was not regarding me at all, but scanning the two lines of faces,
perhaps to see if any other had anything to say.
"If I told you my plan," said he presently, when he had cleared his
throat, "you would tear it in little pieces. The Germans have
another plan, and they will tell you as much of it as they think it
good for you to know. Mark what my orders are! Listen to this plan
of theirs. Pretend to agree. Then you shall be given weapons. Then
you shall leave this camp within a week."
That, sahib, was like a shell bursting in the midst of men asleep.
What did it mean? Eyes glanced to left and right, looking for
understanding and finding none, and no man spoke because none could
think of anything to say. It was on my tongue to ask him to explain
when he gave us his final word on the matter--and little enough it
was, yet sufficient if we obeyed.
"Remember the oath of a Sikh!" said he. "Remember that he who is
true in his heart to his oath has Truth to fight for him! Treachery
begets treason, treason begets confusion; and who are ye to stay the
course of things? Faith begets faith; courage gives birth to
opportunity!"
He paused, but we knew he had not finished yet, and he kept us
waiting full three minutes wondering what would come. Then:
"As for your doubts," said he. "If the head aches, shall the body
cut it off that it may think more clearly? Consider that!" said he.
"Dismiss!"
We fell out and he marched away like a king with thoughts of state
in mind. I thought his beard was grayer than it had been, but oh,
sahib, he strode as an arrow goes, swift and straight, and splendid.
Lonely as an arrow that has left the sheaf!
I had to run to catch up with him, and I was out of breath when I
touched his sleeve. He turned and waited while I thought of things
to say, and then struggled to find words with which to say them.
"Sahib!" said I. "Oh, Major sahib!" And then my throat became full
of words each struggling to be first, and I was silent.
"Well?" said he, standing with both arms folded, looking very grave,
but not angry nor contemptuous.
"Sahib," I said, "I am a true man. As I stand here, I am a true man.
I have been a fool--I have been half-hearted--I was like a man in
the dark; I listened and heard voices that deceived me!"
"And am I to listen and hear voices, too?" he asked.
"Nay, sahib!" I said. "Not such voices, but true words!"
"Words?" he said. "Words! Words! There have already been too many
words. Truth needs no words to prove it true, Hira Singh. Words are
the voice of nothingness!"
"Then, sahib--" said I, stammering.
"Hira Singh," said he, "each man's heart is his own. Let each man
keep his own. When the time comes we shall see no true men eating
shame," said he.
And with that he acknowledged my salute, turned on his heel, and
marched away. And the great gate slammed behind him. And German
officers pressing close on either side talked with him earnestly,
asking, as plainly as if I heard the words, what he had said, and
what we had said, and what the outcome was to be. I could see his
lips move as he answered, but no man living could have guessed what
he told them. I never did know what he told them. But I have lived
to see the fruit of what he did, and of what he made us do; and from
that minute I have never faltered for a second in my faithfulness to
Ranjoor Singh.
Be attentive, sahib, and learn what a man of men is Risaldar-major
Ranjoor Singh bahadur.
CHAPTER III
Shall he who knows not false from true judge treason?
--EASTERN PROVERB.
You may well imagine, sahib, in the huts that night there was noise
as of bees about to swarm. No man slept. Men flitted like ghosts
from hut to hut--not too openly, nor without sufficient evidence of
stealth to keep the guards in good conceit of themselves, but freely
for all that. What the men of one hut said the men of the next hut
knew within five minutes, and so on, back and forth.
I was careful to say nothing. When men questioned me, "Nay," said I.
"I am one and ye are many. Choose ye! Could I lead you against your
wills?" They murmured at that, but silence is easier to keep than
some men think.
Why did I say nothing? In the first place, sahib, because my mind
was made at last. With all my heart now, with the oath of a Sikh and
the truth of a Sikh I was Ranjoor Singh's man. I believed him true,
and I was ready to stand or fall by that belief, in the dark, in the
teeth of death, against all odds, anywhere. Therefore there was
nothing I could say with wisdom. For if they were to suspect my true
thoughts, they would lose all confidence in me, and then I should be
of little use to the one man who could help all of us. I judged that
what Ranjoor Singh most needed was a silent servant who would watch
and obey the first hint. Just as I had watched him in battle and had
herded the men for him to lead, so would I do now. There should be
deeds, not words, for the foundation of a new beginning.
In the second place, sahib, I knew full well that if Gooja Singh or
any of the others could have persuaded me to advance an opinion it
would have been pounced on, and changed out of all recognition, yet
named my opinion nevertheless. This altered opinion they would
presently adopt, yet calling it mine, and when the outcome of it
should fail at last to please them they would blame me. For such is
the way of the world. So I had two good reasons, and the words I
spoke that night could have been counted without aid of pen and
paper.
The long and short of it was that morning found them undecided.
There was one opinion all held--even Gooja Singh, who otherwise took
both sides as to everything--that above all and before all we were
all true men, loyal to our friends, the British, and foes of every
living German or Austrian or Turk so long as the war should last.
The Germans had bragged to us about the Turks being in the war on
their side, and we had thought deeply on the subject of their choice
of friends. Like and like mingle, sahib. As for us, my grandfather
fought for the British in '57, and my father died at Kandahar under
Bobs bahadur. On that main issue we were all one, and all ashamed to
be prisoners while our friends were facing death. But dawn found
almost no two men agreed as to Ranjoor Singh, or in fact on any
other point.
Not long after dawn, came the Germans again, with new arguments. And
this time they began to let us feel the iron underlying their
persuasion. Once, to make talk and gain time before answering a
question, I had told them of our labor in the bunkers on the ship
that carried us from India. I had boasted of the coal we piled on
the fire-room floor. Lo, it is always foolish to give information to
the enemy--always, sahib--always! There is no exception.
Said they to us now: "We Germans are devoting all our energy to
prosecution of this war. Nearly all our able-bodied men are with the
regiments. Every man must do his part, for we are a nation in arms.
Even prisoners must do their part. Those who do not fight for us
must work to help the men who do fight."
"Work without pay?" said I.
"Aye," said they, "work without pay. There is coal, for instance. We
understand that you Sikhs have proved yourselves adept at work with
coal. He who can labor in the bunkers of a ship can handle pick and
shovel in the mines, and most of our miners have been called up. Yet
we need more coal than ever."
So, sahib. So they turned my boast against me. And the men around
me, who had heard me tell the tale about our willing labor on the
ship, now eyed me furiously; although at the time they had enjoyed
the boast and had added details of their own. The Germans went away
and left us to talk over this new suggestion among ourselves, and
until afternoon I was kept busy speaking in my own defense.
"Who could have foreseen how they would use my words against us?" I
demanded. But they answered that any fool could have foreseen it,
and that my business was to foresee in any case and to give them
good advice. I kept that saying in my heart, and turned it against
THEM when the day came.
That afternoon the Germans returned, with knowing smiles that were
meant to seem courteous, and with an air of confidence that was
meant to appear considerate. Doubtless a cat at meal-time believes
men think him generous and unobtrusive. They went to great trouble
to prove themselves our wise counselors and disinterested friends.
"We have explained to you," said they, "what hypocrites the British
are,--what dust they have thrown in your eyes for more than a
century--how they have grown rich at your expense, deliberately
keeping India in ignorance and subjection, in poverty and vice, and
divided against itself. We have told you what German aims are on the
other hand, and how successful our armies are on every front as the
result of the consistence of those aims. We have proved to you how
half the world already takes our side--how the Turks fight for us,
how Persia begins to join the Turks, how Afghanistan already moves,
and how India is in rebellion. Now--wouldn't you like to join our
side--to throw the weight of Sikh honor and Sikh bravery into the
scale with us? That would be better fun than working in the mines,"
said they.
"Are we offered that alternative?" I asked, but they did not answer
that question. They went away again and left us to our thoughts.
And we talked all the rest of that day and most of the next night,
arriving at no decision. When they asked me for an opinion, I said,
"Ranjoor Singh told us this would be, and he gave us orders what to
do." When they asked me ought they to obey him, I answered, "Nay,
choose ye! Who can make you obey against your wills?" And when they
asked me would I abide by their decision, "Can the foot walk one
way," I answered, "while the body walks another? Are we not one?"
said I.
"Then," said they, "you bid us consider this proposal to take part
against our friends?"
"Nay," said I, "I am a true man. No man can make me fight against
the British."
They thought on that for a while, and then surrounded me again,
Gooja Singh being spokesman for them all. "Then you counsel us,"
said he, "to choose the hard labor in the coal mines?"
"Nay," said I. "I counsel nothing."
"But what other course is there?" said he.
"There is Ranjoor Singh," said I.
"But he desired to lead us against the British," said he.
"Nay," said I. "Who said so?"
Gooja Singh answered: "He, Ranjoor Singh himself, said so."
"Nay," said I. "I heard what he said. He said he will lead us, but
he said nothing of his plan. He did not say he will lead us against
the British."
"Then it was the Germans. They said so," said Gooja Singh. "They
said he will lead us against the British."
"The Germans said," said I, "that their armies are outside Paris--
that India is in rebellion--that Pertab Singh was hanged in Delhi--
that the British rule in India has been altogether selfish--that our
wives and children have been butchered by the British in cold blood.
The Germans," said I, "have told us very many things."
"Then," said he, "you counsel us to follow Ranjoor Singh?"
"Nay," said I. "I counsel nothing."
"You are a coward!" said he. "You are afraid to give opinion!"
"I am one among many!" I answered him.
They left me alone again and talked in groups, Gooja Singh passing
from one group to another like a man collecting tickets. Then, when
it was growing dusk, they gathered once more about me and Gooja
Singh went through the play of letting them persuade him to be
spokesman.
"If we decide to follow Ranjoor Singh," said he, "will you be one
with us?"
"If that is the decision of you all," I answered, "then yes. But if
it is Gooja Singh's decision with the rest consenting, then no. Is
that the decision of you all?" I asked, and they murmured a sort of
answer.
"Nay!" said I. "That will not do! Either yes or no. Either ye are
willing or ye are unwilling. Let him who is unwilling say so, and I
for one will hold no judgment against him."
None answered, though I urged again and again. "Then ye are all
willing to give Ranjoor Singh a trial?" said I; and this time they
all answered in the affirmative.
"I think your decision well arrived at!" I made bold to tell them.
"To me it seems you have all seen wisdom, and although I had
thoughts in mind," said I, "of accepting work in the collieries and
blowing up a mine perhaps, yet I admit your plan is better and I
defer to it."
They were much more pleased with that speech than if I had admitted
the truth, that I would never have agreed to any other plan. So that
now they were much more ready than they might have been to listen to
my next suggestion.
"But," said I, with an air of caution, "shall we not keep any watch
on Ranjoor Singh?"
"Let us watch!" said they. "Let us be forehanded!"
"But how?" said I. "He is an officer. He is not bound to lay bare
his thoughts to us."
They thought a long time about that. It grew dark, and we were
ordered to our huts, and lights were put out, and still they lay
awake and talked of it. At last Gooja Singh flitted through the dark
and came to me and asked me my opinion on the matter.
"One of you go and offer to be his servant," said I. "Let that
servant serve him well. A good servant should know more about his
master than the master himself."
"Who shall that one be?" he asked; and he went back to tell the men
what I had said.
After midnight he returned. "They say you are the one to keep watch
on him," said he.
"Nay, nay!" said I, with my heart leaping against my ribs, but my
voice belying it. "If I agree to that, then later you will swear I
am his friend and condemn me in one judgment with him!"
"Nay," said he. "Nay truly! On the honor of a Sikh!"
"Mine is also the honor of a Sikh," said I, "and I will cover it
with care. Go back to them," I directed, "and let them all come and
speak with me at dawn."
"Is my word not enough?" said he.
"Was Ranjoor Singh's enough?" said I, and he went, muttering to
himself.
I slept until dawn--the first night I had slept in three--and before
breakfast they all clustered about me, urging me to be the one to
keep close watch on Ranjoor Singh.
"God forbid that I should be stool pigeon!" said I. "Nay, God
forbid! Ranjoor Singh need but give an order that ye have no liking
for and ye will shoot me in the back for it!"
They were very earnest in their protestations, urging me more and
more; but the more they urged the more I hung back, and we ate
before I gave them any answer. "This is a plot," said I, "to get me
in trouble. What did I ever do that ye should combine against me?"
"Nay!" said they. "By our Sikh oath, we be true men and your
friends. Why do you doubt us?"
Then said I at last, as it were reluctantly, "If ye demand it--if ye
insist--I will be the go-between. Yet I do it because ye compel me
by weight of unanimity!" said I.
"It is your place!" said they, but I shook my head, and to this day
I have never admitted to them that I undertook the work willingly.
Presently came the Germans to us again, this time accompanied by
officers in uniform who stood apart and watched with an air of
passing judgment. They asked us now point-blank whether or not we
were willing to work in the coal mines and thus make some return for
the cost of keeping us; and we answered with one voice that we were
not coal-miners and therefore not willing.
"The alternative," said they, "is that you apply to fight on the
side of the Central Empires. Men must all either fight or work in
these days; there is no room for idlers."
"Is there no other work we could do?" asked Gooja Singh.
"None that we offer you!" said they. "If you apply to be allowed to
fight on the side of the Central Empires, then your application will
be considered. However, you would be expected to forswear allegiance
to Great Britain, and to take the military oath as provided by our
law; so that in the event of any lapse of discipline or loyalty to
our cause you could be legally dealt with."
"And the alternative is the mines?" said I.
"No, no!" said the chief of them. "You must not misunderstand. Your
present destination is the coal mines, where you are to earn your
keep. But the suggestion is made to you that you might care to apply
for leave to fight on our side. In that case we would not send you
to the coal mines until at least your application had been
considered. It is practically certain it would be considered
favorably."
The conversation was in English as usual and many of the men had not
quite understood. Those on the outside had not heard properly. So I
bade four men lift me, and I shouted to them in our own tongue all
that the German had said. There fell a great silence, and the four
men let me drop to the earth between them.
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