The Outcaste. F. E. Penny

it as being incompatible, and therefore useless to himself. He refused to discuss the subject of religious differences. It was waste of time if nothing else. When he first fell under the influence of the professor he showed a disinclination to speak on religion at all. Gradually he gained confidence as he discovered that Twyford had no design of converting him to the Christian faith, and became more communicative. Somewhat to his astonishment he learned that the Englishman possessed a greater and more intimate knowledge of the sacred books of his nation than himself. As his confidence strengthened, he became more communicative and less afraid of listening to other doctrines.

      Coomara had been married to Bopaul's sister when he was ten years old; hence the link that bound the three men together. The period of exile appointed by their respective parents was within a few months of its termination, and they were looking forward to their return to Chirakul, when the ceremonies necessary to restore their caste would be performed and Coomara's wedding be completed; for his marriage had been practically only a betrothal from the European point of view. The honeymoon had yet to be spent.

      CHAPTER II

      The run to London by the express was to occupy an hour. As Wenaston and his companions entered the station the train stood ready by the platform. There was a rush for the carriages, and before they could make their way to a first-class smoker, every seat was occupied. A number of people were in the same case as themselves, being unable to find places. He stopped an official and asked when the next train would start.

      "A duplicate will be put on as soon as this has been sent off. There will be plenty of room in that, sir."

      A quarter of an hour later they were comfortably seated in a compartment which they had to themselves. The train ran smoothly and conversation was possible. The Englishman alone smoked. To the high-caste Hindu the replacing of the cigar in the mouth after it has touched the tongue and lips is an offence against caste. The men had no objection, however, to the smoke made by another.

      "I suppose there was no doubt about the man being dead?" said Ananda, as they again discussed the event of the day.

      "None whatever," replied Bopaul. "I heard it announced by a member of the committee, who gave it out as a reason for stopping all further aviation. The competitions were over, and the programme completed. The man was only marking time, so to speak, just to keep the people amused."

      "He offered to do it, I heard," remarked Ananda.

      "With the wind increasing he ought not to have been allowed to take such a risk," said Wenaston. "It is waste of life to hurl a man into eternity for such a trivial reason."

      "Hurl a man into eternity," repeated Ananda slowly, his dreamy eyes fixed upon the speaker.

      "Oh, well; that's just a way of talking. I meant the life after death," replied Wenaston, slightly taken aback.

      "The life? You don't mean re-incarnation; trans-migration is not one of your doctrines of belief. You mean life elsewhere?"

      "Yes, in the future—in another world."

      "Do you really believe that you will have a personality—that you can retain the ego that is in you now—when you enter any other world but this?"

      "I hope so. We are taught by our religion that something of the sort is to take place. What is your belief?" asked Wenaston, turning the conversation on to Hinduism. Before Ananda could reply, Coomara, assertive in the stronghold of his steadfast faith, spoke.

      "We believe that after a long succession of rebirths on this earth we shall be absorbed in the Deity."

      Wenaston did not reply, and Coomara explained thinking that the Englishman had not understood.

      "—the great impersonal Brahma, the origin of all things, the Spirit that your Bible says brooded on the face of the waters when the world was without form."

      "You can't expect any positive happiness in such a state," objected Wenaston.

      "Why not?"

      "How can you hope for positive happiness if you are impersonal yourself and forming part of an impersonal Deity?"

      "There is no reason why we should not enjoy a state or condition of happiness if the Deity so willed it."

      Wenaston avoided the exceedingly difficult question of impersonality and exercise of the Divine will; and turned the conversation to a subject that was directly and humanly personal.

      "Then if you were killed suddenly like that aviator, you would die in the comfortable assurance that you would join your God and become part of Him."

      Somewhat to his surprise there was no reply. He glanced round at his companions under the impression that they had tired of the topic, and were no longer interested. The expression of their faces did not confirm this idea. Coomara's eyes were averted, but Ananda's were fixed upon the speaker; and in their depths lurked a shadow of fear that Wenaston could not fathom. He turned to the half-closed window. The wind had increased and the threatened storm of rain had begun. It was coming down in driving sheets that beat against the glass and obliterated the landscape.

      "We are going to have a stormy night; this is not a shower," he remarked, as he drew up the window and closed it completely.

      It was Bopaul who broke the silence. The seriousness of the subject had no effect on him. On the contrary, Wenaston thought he detected an undercurrent of amusement in his tone.

      "Our future life depends on the circumstances surrounding death. The attainment of everlasting happiness would by no means fall to our lot, I am afraid. It is more likely that we individually would be overtaken by punishment."

      "You have no hell to fear," replied Wenaston.

      "We need not fear the hell described by the teachers of your religion; but we have an equivalent. It lies in our transmigration doctrine. Rebirth on earth as some inferior creature is our hell; existence as a horse, a dhoby-donkey, a rat, a loathsome pariah, a dog or a reptile according to the heinousness of our sins."

      Bopaul smiled grimly as he caught the expression on the faces of Coomara and Ananda. The latter could not conceal his horror at the contemplation of an existence in a lower birth, where pain and servitude, he believed, would crush out every joy of life. His sensitive nature revolted against the thought of the indignities and sufferings such a birth must involve. Coomara's fatalism saved him in some degree from the dread that overwhelmed Ananda. If he were destined to a succession of inferior births it would be impossible to avoid them. The inevitable must be faced. As well might a man try to draw the sun down from its place in the heavens and stop its course as to endeavour to upset the law of destiny.

      "It certainly sounds appalling," commented Wenaston.

      "Such a fate is as much dreaded by the orthodox Hindu as the fate believed by Christians to be the portion of malefactors after death," said Bopaul, without hesitation.

      "Then you must take care never to offend your Deity," remarked Wenaston.

      "Our code of offence is different from yours. We have no decalogue. I may commit murder, for instance, without offence, if I kill a pariah or an out-caste; but if the victim of my enmity happened to be a Brahman, the aspect of the deed would be utterly changed. The sin would be enormous. Nothing short of a cycle of inferior births could reinstate me and restore me to the position I occupy at the present time."

      "None of you are likely to kill a Brahman, I imagine," said Wenaston lightly, and with the design of dissipating a little of the solemnity that seemed to have settled upon Coomara and Ananda.

      His well-meant efforts were unavailing. It was evident that so serious a subject was not to be dismissed in a moment.

      "There are other ways of transgressing, which, if persisted in, bring down upon us the curse of inferior rebirth," said Bopaul. "Carelessness and neglect in the performance of our religious duties. Manu, the law-giver, himself defines sin in clear, unmistakeable terms. We can transgress by neglecting to read the Vedas; by falling away from prescribed customs; by remissness in the performance of holy rites. In addition, offences may come through