Rama
Where would you go? Turn back!—Soldiers, stand firm in your loyalty to your master Jivaji! do your last sacred duty by him!
Ama
Father!
Vinayaka
Free her, soldiers! She is my daughter.
Soldiers
She is the widow of our master.
Vinayaka
Her husband, though a Mussulman, was staunch in his own faith.
Rama
Soldiers, keep this old man under control!
Ama
I defy you, mother!—You, soldiers, I defy!—for through death and love I win to freedom.
30
A painter was selling pictures at the fair; followed by servants, there passed the son of a minister who in youth had cheated this painter’s father so that he had died of a broken heart.
The boy lingered before the pictures and chose one for himself. The painter flung a cloth over it and said he would not sell it.
After this the boy pined heart-sick till his father came and offered a large price. But the painter kept the picture unsold on his shop-wall and grimly sat before it, saying to himself, “This is my revenge.”
The sole form this painter’s worship took was to trace an image of his god every morning.
And now he felt these pictures grow daily more different from those he used to paint.
This troubled him, and he sought in vain for an explanation till one day he started up from work in horror, the eyes of the god he had just drawn were those of the minister, and so were the lips.
He tore up the picture, crying, “My revenge has returned on my head!”
31
The General came before the silent and angry King and saluting him said: “The village is punished, the men are stricken to dust, and the women cower in their unlit homes afraid to weep aloud.”
The High Priest stood up and blessed the King and cried: “God’s mercy is ever upon you.”
The Clown, when he heard this, burst out laughing and startled the court. The King’s frown darkened.
“The honour of the throne,” said the minister, “is upheld by the King’s prowess and the blessing of Almighty God.”
Louder laughed the Clown, and the King growled,—“Unseemly mirth!”
“God has showered many blessings upon your head,” said the Clown; “the one he bestowed on me was the gift of laughter.”
“This gift will cost you your life,” said the King, gripping his sword with his right hand.
Yet the Clown stood up and laughed till he laughed no more.
A shadow of dread fell upon the Court, for they heard that laughter echoing in the depth of God’s silence.