--poems chiefly; sketches and impressions; his dearest
theme the troubled spirit of India,--or was it the spirit of
Aruna?--poised between crescent light and deepening shadow, looking for
sane clear guidance--and finding none. A prose sketch, in this vein,
stood out from the rest; a fragment of his soul, too intimately
self-revealing for the general gaze: no uncommon dilemma for an artist,
precisely when his work is most intrinsically true. Had he followed the
natural urge of his heart, he would have sent it to Aruna. As it was, he
decided to treasure it a little longer for himself alone.

* * * * *

Meantime Dyan--half forgotten--suddenly emerged. It was at a
meeting--exclusively religious and philosophical; but the police had
wind of it; and a friendly inspector mentioned it to Krishna Lal. The
chief speaker would be a Swami of impeccable sanctity. "But if you have
a sensitive palate, you will doubtless detect a spice of political
powder under the jam of religion!" quoth Krishna Lal, who was a man of
humour and no friend of sedition.

"Thanks for the hint," said Roy--and groaned in spirit. Meetings, at
best, were the abomination of desolation; and his soul was sick of the
Indian variety. For the 'silent East' is never happier than when it is
talking at immense length; denouncing, inaugurating, promoting; and a
prolonged dose of it stirred in Roy a positive craving for men who shot
remarks at each other in 'straight-flung words and true.' But no stone
must be left unturned. So he went;--guided by the friendly policeman,
who knew him for a Sahib bent on some personal quest.

Their search ended in a windowless inner room; packed to suffocation;
heavy with attar of rose, kerosene, and human bodies; and Roy as usual
clung to a doorway that offered occasional respite.

The Swami was already in full flow:--a wraith of a man in a
salmon-coloured garment; his eyes, deep in their sockets, gleaming like
black diamonds. And he was holding his audience spellbound:--Hindus of
every calling; students in abundance; a sprinkling of Sikhs and Dogras
from the lines. Some form of hypnotism,--was it? Perhaps. Even Roy could
not listen unmoved, when the spirit shook the frail creature like a gust
of wind and the hollow chest-notes vibrated with appeal or command. Such
men--and India is full of them--are spiritual dynamos. Who can calculate
their effect on an emotional race? And they no longer confine thei