They see in him a Hindu who differs very little from
the rest of educated natives, perhaps only in his perfect contempt
for the social conventions of India and the demands of Western
civilization....
And that is all - unless I add that he is known
in Central India as a sufficiently wealthy man, and a Takur, a
feudal chieftain of a Raj, one of the hundreds of similar Rajes.
Besides, he is a true friend of ours, who offered us his protection
in our travels and volunteered to play the mediator between us
and the suspicious, uncommunicative Hindus. Beyond all this, we
know absolutely nothing about him. It is true, though, that I
know a little more than the others; but I have promised silence,
and silent I shall be. But the little I know is so strange, so
unusual, that it is more like a dream than a reality."
A good while ago, more than twenty-seven years, I met him in the
house of a stranger in England, whither he came in the company of
a certain dethroned Indian prince. Then our acquaintance was
limited to two conversations; their unexpectedness, their gravity,
and even severity, produced a strong impression on me then; but,
in the course of time, like many other things, they sank into
oblivion and Lethe. About seven years ago he wrote to me to
America, reminding me of our conversation and of a certain promise
I had made. Now we saw each other once more in India, his own
country, and I failed to see any change wrought in his appearance
by all these long years. I was, and looked, quite young, when I
first saw him; but the passage of years had not failed to change
me into an old woman. As to him, he appeared to me twenty-seven
years ago a man of about thirty, and still looked no older, as if
time were powerless against him. In England, his striking beauty,
especially his extraordinary height and stature, together with his
eccentric refusal to be presented to the Queen - an honour many a
high-born Hindu has sought, coming over on purpose - excited the
public notice and the attention of the newspapers. The newspapermen
of those days, when the influence of Byron was still great, discussed
the "wild Rajput" with untiring pens, calling him "Raja-Misanthrope"
and " Prince Jalma-Samson," and in-venting fables about him all the
time he stayed in England.
All this taken together was well calculated to fill me with consuming
curiosity, and to absorb my thoughts till I forgot every exterior
circumstance, sitting and staring at him in no wise less intensely
than Narayan.
I gazed at the remarkable face of Gulab-Lal-Sing with a mixed feeling
of indescribable fear and enthusiastic admiration; recalling the
mysterious death of the Karli tiger, my own miraculous escape a
few hours ago in Bagh, and many other incidents too many to relate.
It was only a few hours since he appeared to us in the morning,
and yet what a number of strange ideas, of puzzling occurrences,
how many enigmas his presence stirred in our minds!
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