Hira Singh | Page 6

He went to the woman's house. In hiding, I heard her
sneer at him. I heard her mock him. I would have doubted him forever
if I had heard her praise him, but she did not, and I knew him to be a
true man.
Ours is more like the French than the British system; there is more
intercourse between officer and non-commissioned officer and man.
But Ranjoor Singh is a silent man, and we of his squadron, though we
respected him, knew little of what was in his mind. When there began
to be talk about his knowing German, and about his secrecy, and about
his nights spent at HER place, who could answer? We all knew he

knew German.
There were printed pamphlets from God-knows-where, and letters from
America, that made pretense at explanations; and there were spies who
whispered. My voice, saying I had listened and seen and that I trusted,
was as a quail's note when the monsoon bursts. None heard. So that in
the end I held my tongue. I even began to doubt.
Then a trooper of ours was murdered in the bazaar, and Ranjoor Singh's
servant disappeared. Within an hour Ranjoor Singh was gone, too.
Then came news of war. Then our officers came among us to ask
whether we are willing or not to take a hand in this great quarrel.
Perhaps in that hour if they had not asked us we might have judged that
we and they were not one after all.
But they did ask, and let a man, an arrow, and an answer each go
straight, say we. Our Guru tells us Sikhs should fight ever on the side
of the oppressed; the weaker the oppressed, the more the reason for our
taking part with them. Our officers made no secret about the strength of
the enemy, and we made none with them of our feeling in the matter.
They were proud men that day. Colonel Kirby was a very proud man.
We were prouder than he, except when we thought of Ranjoor Singh.
Then, as it were out of the night itself, there came a message by word
of mouth from Ranjoor Singh saying he will be with us before the
blood shall run. We were overjoyed at that, and talked about it far into
the night; yet when dawn had come doubt again had hold of us, and I
think I was the only Sikh in the regiment ready to swear to his integrity.
Once, at least a squadron of us had loved him to the death because we
thought him an example of Sikh honor. Now only I and our British
officers believed in him.
We are light cavalry. We were first of all the Indian regiments to ride
out of Delhi and entrain at a station down the line. That was an honor,
and the other squadrons rode gaily, but D Squadron hung its head. I
heard men muttering in the ranks and some I rebuked to silence, but my
rebukes lightened no man's heart. In place of Ranjoor Singh rode

Captain Fellowes, promoted from another squadron, and noticing our
lack of spirit, he did his best to inspire us with fine words and manly
bearing; but we felt ashamed that our own Sikh major was not leading
us, and did not respond to encouragement.
Yet when we rode out of Delhi Gate it was as if a miracle took place. A
stiffening passed along the squadron. A trooper caught sight of Ranjoor
Singh standing beside some bullock carts, and passed the word. I, too,
saw him. He was with a Muhammadan bunnia, and was dressed to
resemble one himself.
The trooper who was first to see him--a sharp-eyed man--he died at
Ypres--Singh means lion, sahib--now recognized the man who stood
with him. "That bunnia," said he, "is surely none other than the
European who gave us the newspaper clippings about Sikhs not
allowed to land in Canada. See--he is disguised like a fool. Are the
police asleep," said he, "that such thieves dare sun themselves?"
It was true enough, sahib. The man in disguise was German, and we
remembered again that Ranjoor Singh knew German. From that
moment we rode like new men--I, too, although I because I trusted
Ranjoor Singh now more than ever; they, because they trusted no
longer at all, and he can shoulder what seem certainties whom doubt
unmans. No word, but a thought that a man could feel passed all down
the line, that whatever our officer might descend to being, the rank and
file would prove themselves faithful to the salt. Thenceforward there
was nothing in our bearing to cause our officers anxiety.
You might wonder, sahib, why none broke ranks to expose both men
on the spot. I