"Ah," sighed the pensive one, "but the flower is the poppy, for he who
possesses it presently falls asleep."
But his gentle conceit was unheard, for Nawab Khan related a story.
"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."