It was a significant fact that the worst of Marut's population--the
beggars, thieves and vagrants--was mostly lacking. These men were the
hope upon which Nehal Singh had built his Utopia, the industrious,
intelligent minority, and these were they whom he was now calling
about him by the power of personality and superstition. Nicholson knew
enough of the Hindu character to be well aware that it was not the
loss of employment nor of their small savings which had brought them
together and put their knives in their hands ready to strike. The
Hindu accepts misfortune with the languid stoicism of the fatalist;
injury and wrong rarely rouse him, especially, as in this case, when
it comes too indirectly for him to trace the real injurer. But to
touch his religion is to touch the innermost sanctuary of his being,
where are stored the hidden fires of fanatic energy, hatred and
reckless courage. And Nehal Singh was their religion, their Messiah,
the Avatar for whose coming their whole nation waited. Hitherto he had
led them in peace, and they had followed, though other influences had
been at work.
Even in this moment he still controlled them. Nicholson felt that a
strong unseen hand held the crowd in that strange silence beneath
which rumbled and groaned the growing storm. He had seen dark hands
finger the unsheathed knives; he had seen them reluctantly fall away.
The hour had not yet come. Nehal Singh waited.
Pages:
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334