"FALSE GODS."

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 141, 15 June 1923, Page 10

"FALSE GODS."

By GUY THORNE.

Author of "Film City," "The Crime on the Film," Etc. CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.)' At some , period >or another, everyone has awakened from sleep suddenly and with every sense upon the alert. At such" times there is absolutely no gradation. At one moment one is lost in profound unconsciousness, at the next wide awake and in possession of every faculty to an enhanced degree. This happened to John Staveley with the quickness of a pistol shot. He lay on his back in the bed, fully aware of all his surroundings. The dull pain in his shoulder reminded him of the horrible struggle in the wall. Every detail of the last twenty-four hours was, so to speak, at the full tide of memory. He had slept for some time, for the sun had declined towards its western bower and no longer poured its rays into the bedroom. But it was not twilight. The light was clear and distinct and the colour had not yet begun to fade out of things. It was a curious sensation, and when he realised it in his mind, as one's mind does on such occasions, immediately asked itself the reason for this swift, abnormal keenness of perception. For he knew by experience that it almost invariably heralds some event. And, even as he asked himself the question, the answer came. The door opened quickly, very quietly, and then closed again. And there, standing by the bedside, looking down upon him, was the Indian! He was dressed, as Staveley had always seen both Rama and him, in a loose grey suit. There was nothing indefinite or suspicious in his appearance. Staveley saw him in the round, he was flesh and blood, no wraith, phantom, or image of a disordered mind! For a moment he stood looking down at the sick man. The brilliant, dark, eyes were blazing with excitement, but there was nothing menacing i n them. Hd lifted one delicate hand, a little, as though to bind Staveley to silence, and stepped up to the trap-door, which ho lifted with a sin«-i e movement. Then lie disappeared. A cold. w ind seemed to blow among the V.airs of Staveley's bead, his body "V.'as covered with icy sweat, his heart raced like an ungoverned engine. A bitter, yearning cry, soundless in the spiritual sphere, came from trie very depths of his being. Oh, "to cease upon the midnight, with no pain," to purge the frail soul of terror, terror too great and awful to be borne! For he, the materialist, believed that he had trodden into the secret things that are behind the Veil, and, like Moses amid the mists of Sinai, he was in deadly fear. They had never deceived him, Eiddon and Duncan. Tho man Suddhodana, had been lying at the point of death next door, and now he was here, healed and whole, coming to him a3 he had indubitably come in London. Once more the stricken man seemed to hear the deep, vibrating words, "Now will you believe I" But the Indian had not spoken. Down below in the darkness, Staveley heard him distinctly. There was the soft sound of his footsteps,' a thud, a wrenching, tearing noise, a gasp that w-as almost a cry, and then silence. Fear could go no farther. Staveley felt that he had arrived at the very moment of dissolution. His bones groaned in agony, the last breath seemed fluttering in his throat, ready to take flight. , Soft, sweet, every w,ord distinct rose the Buddhist's prayer:, "Om man! pud nil hum!*' Oh. the jewel in the Lotus! "What was it? How could mere words heard with the sensual ear fall like choicest, refreshing balm upon the spirit? Cold water to one dying of thirst in the desert? It was a million times more than that! Something was happening beyond all thinkable, believable experience, transcendental, to be known once and perhaps never again. The Indian re-appeareel. He stepped out of the hole in the floor with easy grace. His face, in that grey room, seemed all aflame. It shone—there was an aureole, as it wore, about his head, and yet John Staveley knew that this was no material fire but was the glow of the spirit within. He came up to the bed once more, and then the sick man saw that with both hands he was clasping something to his breast, as a priest might clasp a chalice. The ; thing was a bowl of dark, polished wood—no more than that! And yet it was from this thing, this visible object that all the glow and glory that was in them both seemed to come. The tall, slender figure bent over the bed, and it was as though a fragrant breeze from some high and spicy garden blew over Staveley. "Brother, I bid you a long farewell. Our quest is ended. That which was lost is found, and the things that are written in the Book of, the Higher Way are duly accomplished. For a short time you have known pain of spirit and of body, but that is past, like a shadow passes over a hill. There shall be no more, and your life from henceforth shall be happy and serene untij you, also, escape from tho Wheel and arc at one with the Liivine Consciousness. And, for a pledge « my sorrow, and as a message of good-w-ii V om L thos c who sit on the Holy ™ m th ? Yelled City of Bhotiyal, *I pray thee to be whole'" Clasping the shining bowl to him with his right hand, he bent over th" bed and rested his left lightly upon Jv? VC* , 8 ,oulder " At moment when the dull pain left him, the sick man saw a vision. For the period of a lighning flash, no more, he stood in a vast, dim cathedral of unknown architecture. At one end and advancing towards where he stoodi came a multitude of men singing, men in long robes, with narrow eyes and curious, high cheekbones, and the sound of their singing was like mighty waters. A single figure advanced to meet them, walking alone up a long, shadowy aisle with bowed head, clasping something to his breast which' shone with light. And as he walked towards the singing multitude, two other figures joined him, one on either side—and then the vision and all else flashed away. When Staveley opened his.eyes once more, the room was empty. Mad he been dreaming again? He sat up in bed, whole and well!- The : wound in his shoulder had disappeared. Tearing open his shirt, he saw that the flesh was firm and unscarred, as it had been before. With a grave face he got out of the bed and quickly dressed himself. For some reason which he could not define, his eyes were full of tears as he went -out into the corridor and knocked at the door of the next room.

Staveley entered the bedroom in which Suddhodana lay . dying apd . saw; a strange, arresting tableau. Dr. Liddon, bending over the bed, was'supporting the dying Indian. . W. W. Duncan wa.s seated at a-little table upon which were two lighted candles.. There was a hote- ! book before him, and ho had a* pencil in his hand. His face was set and stern. And in a far corner of the room, General Achilles Munro sat upon a chair, his face buried in his hands. Staveley saw the dying, man upon the bed, but felt no pang of wonder or, of fear. A great peace possessed him, 1 which nothing could disturb, and all 1 seemed right and well. Not for an ' instant did he ask himself how this ■ miracle had come about, or try to | reconcile the appearance of the healer with, that of the man in Liddon's arms. This picture Staveley saw: In an inJ stant it was, broken' up and-dissolved, . like the image of a scene mirrored on still water when the water is disturbed. ' The doctor laid the Indian back upon his pillows, and rose with a startled 1 cry. W. W. Duncan sent "one of the ' candles hurling to'the floor, but General • Achilles Munro only looked steadily and ' did not move. "Staveley, you are mad I" cried Liddon, ' hurrying up to him. "I am not mad, Liddon. I have been • through the most marvellous experience ■ of my life. Liddon, there "are more things in the world, after alt," than we believed or understood. I "am healed!" He opened his shirt "and showed them. The torrent of their stammering questions was staved by a voice from the bed. "':.'•' "My friends," it said," "the time is come for you to know everything, for my tongue is loosed since he with the Treasure has passed from this place and is already on his long road to Bhotiyal." "He has passed," said Staveley. "I, myself am witness of his passing. , And; before he went, he healed Ac. Suddhodana, it was not you, as I thought?" "Not I. And now, listen to mc, for the tide of strength is ebbing, though enough will remain to make all clear." 1 Liddon, like a man in a dream, once more went to the head of the bed. He gave the Indian to drink, and then he began. "Brethren," he said, "it is necessary -that I first tell you something of the life of Our Lord, the Buddha, whose pejor priest I am. He was Gautama, a prince, the son of King Thuddhoodana and his wife, Maya, and was strong, handsome and beloved. His father looked forward to the time when he should be gro""n a great man and a leader of armies, so that he might go up against the neighbouring kings and overcome them. The Prince was taught all the faith of those days—a faith so old that we do not know whence it came. He was brought up to believe that life is immortal, that no life can ever utterly die. He was taught that all life is one, that there is. not one life of the beasts and one life of man, but that all life is one glorious unity, one great essence coming from the Unknown. This teaching entered into Our Lord's very soul, and he listened more to those who spoke of holiness than to those who spoke of war. He desired, it is written, to become a hermit, to cast off from him his-state and dignity ancl to put on the yellow garments of a mendicant and beg- his bread, wandering up and down upon the world, seeking for peace. "When the Prince Gautama was eighteen, he was married to his cousin Yathodaya, in the hope that in marriage and paternity he might forget his desire to be a hermit, might feel that love was better than wisdom. It was not to be so! For, to Yathodaya, too, life was a very solemn thing, not to be thrown away iin laughter, and frivolity, but to be used as a great gift worthy of all care. To the Prince in his' trouble there came a kindred soul. For nearly ten years they lived together, such a life as princes led in those days in the East. He daily, hourly, grew more and more discontented with his life in the palace. Deeper and deeper he saw through, the laughing surface, to the depths that lay 'beneath.- And- one night he left the palace. Silently, in the dead of night, he left all the luxury about him and went 'out secretly "with only one servant. He crossed the river out of his father's kingdom into a strange country and put on the garment of a recluse and lived as one. He sought hk bread as they did,' going from house to house for the - broken victuals which he collected an a bowl," retiring to a quiet spot to eat". Thus, he became a seeker after truth and began the life of holiness which. ; pureiied unto the end, 'brought him the name of 'Light of the World' when he.entered into the Peace." He made a slight motion with his hand, and the. watching • physician ministered to him. When he had drunk, he went on in the same musical voice that seemed to weave itself around heart- and mind and • pacify them. • • • "Thus much I was forced to 6ay. And now, I will tell you how, - less than thirty years 'ago, there came a widowed princess to the gates of Lhassa, the holy city, c AH- the details of her coming, and the reason for it, j and What she said' and how she! fared are not for your ears. It' is, enough to say, my friends, that this lady-was received in audience by him whom Europeans call the Dalai Lama, and who - is the ' arch-priest ' of the Buddha in this world. The. lady was with child, and not long- after her arrival she. gave birth' to three sons — and this was discerned by those looking at the stars as a portent. These three sons were named Rama, Suddhodana and Ananda. 1 am the second of those sons, Suddhodana.. Rama entered into Peace, as you all saw, nor did he rise from the dead again. And Ananda has! but an hour agone left this house, taking with Mm That which was appointed." A sharp exclamation came from the American. 4 "Threel" he said—"triplets!" The word of use and wont cracked •like a whip in the room and brought them back to strange realities. As the three men looked at each other, each saw in his neighbour's eyes that he understood. "Then when Rama died !" sa dd Liddon quickly. "lit was I who took his place and pretended that I was he." X "But the body—the sealed temple— how was that managed?" Duncan barked out. Suddhodana smiled faintly. 'It -was built to our designs," he said, "by people from London who were in our pay and had our instructions. The ' roof was a dome, 'but the one that you sa w from the inside of the temple was a ! false one. Between it and the real one ! was a space of less than three feet, and there was a sliding panel. In that place I was concealel for the hours of '■ waiting. We of the lamaseries can keep ! very still and in one posture for a long time. I placed my brother's body in that space, and lay down myself in the 1 coffin, before the people came. As for the seals, I took an impression of them 1 in wax, and I threw the wax through an opening in the outer dome, for there

i was a sliding panel in that also, i like the aperture in an observa- ., tory for the . telescope to search the j heavens. Ananda soon had a seal made, 9 and«fce climbed up with it into the nar--8 row space and sealed mc in the coffin ' - but. an hour before you came. And l 1 then the next night, he climbed up again . ahdtook the body of my brother Rama I 1 to a boat upon the river and thence, by > 3 water to a lonely house, where he embalmed ■ it, working skilfully and B silently throughout, so that the man { lying-in-the bracken who had a little tent in the wood saw nothing and after- • wards swore that no one .had been there." "And it was you, I suppose, that I saw with Lady Cynthia in the wood?" "It was I, Doctor Sahib." "And in my own house?" "It was Ananda. For when he had sealed mc in the coffin he had more than • two hours before you started for Lon--1 don, and he caught the night train • arriving before you, and entered your 1 house with a key he had procured, as I it was arranged." 1 (To be concluded.) 1