And so you believe, Ameer Ali, said I, that your not observing the omens in the instances you related was the cause of your father's death and your misfortunes?
Assuredly, Sahib; I was a sceptic till then, as I have told you, but I was now no longer one; had I not cause to believe in the truth of the omens? And had I obeyed them then should I have the heavy crime I had committed still rooted in my heart? No, no! omens cannot, dare not be disobeyed; and I have never known an instance in which they were, or where a band had been led to destroy a person against the wishes of Bhowanee, that they were not all punished by her vengeance, either with domestic misfortune, imprisonment, or death. Ask any Thug you know, and he will tell you the same. I never doubted omens afterwards, and have allowed some rich prizes to escape me, because I feared that they were not completely propitious.
Well, Sahib, to continue. I pressed forward; I again untied my roomal, for that had never quitted my waist, and I welcomed it to my grasp as I should have done the embrace of an old and valued friend. With such omens, thought I, I cannot be unsuccessful; and over any single traveller, were he Roostum himself, I can gain a victory. I had but one rupee and some pice; my clothes were in rags about me, and I must have others before I could venture to associate myself with Thugs, and hope to lead them.
But I travelled long, and met no person alone; and when noon came, and the sun's heat had overcome me, I lay down under a tree by the road side near which was a well; and having washed and bathed and said the Namaz, I waited to see what chance would throw in my way. There I sat a long time, but no one passed me, and overcome by fatigue I dropped asleep. I was awakened by a touch from some one, and looking up I beheld a middle-aged Mussulman gazing upon me. I arose rapidly, and returned his "Salam Aleikoom" as kindly as he had given it. Fortunately my face remained well wrapped up, and the brand on my forehead could not be seen; he took me to be a traveller like himself, and as he was weary, he sat down and we entered into conversation such as usually passes between persons situated as we were. After he had been seated for a few minutes, he loosed a small wallet from his shoulder, and opening it displayed some cakes and mango pickle, to which he seemed to be inclined to do ample justice; but seeing that I looked wistfully at them he invited me to join his repast, which I was right glad to do, as I had fasted since the morning. When we had finished our meal, he said to me, "Meer Sahib, you say there is no water for some coss in the direction I am going; and therefore, if you will kindly watch my clothes and arms, I will bathe in this well."
"Surely," I replied; "I am in no hurry to be gone, and you will not delay me." As I said it he began to strip, and taking with him a lota, he descended the steps of the well, and I soon after heard the splashing of the water as he poured it over himself. Now is my time, thought I; he will be defenceless, and will fall an easy prey to me; and I prepared my roomal for work.
He soon returned, and began to dress. I loitered near him, till I saw him take up his garment and put both his arms into the sleeves to draw it over him. It was a capital opportunity, and I closed behind him as if to assist him; he turned to me, and as he had just accomplished his purpose, I had finished mine. The roomal was about his neck, and in a few moments he was dead at my feet!
I had no time to lose; so hastily stripping the band from his waist, in which there seemed to be money, I dragged the body to the edge of the well and threw it in. I then arranged his clothes at the head of the steps, as though he had taken them off to bathe, and left them there; his lota I left also with them; and taking up his sword and shield, I girded the first to my waist, and the shield to my back, and pursued my way at as quick a pace as I could. No one will imagine he has been murdered, thought I; the clothes on the brink of the well will cause it to be supposed that he died in the water; and I chuckled over my success and strode along joyfully. But, the more to avoid detection, I struck off from the road I was travelling, and seeing the groves and white temple of a village at some distance I bent my steps towards it; there I purchased some goor, and ate the tupounee, as a good Thug ought to do, and after that I opened the humeana to see what my good fortune had sent me.
And so you murdered the first man who had shown you any kindness after your misfortunes. Oh, Ameer Ali, you are indeed a villain! you ate of his bread and salt, and murdered him! The recompense of a Thug certainly.
But what could I do, Sahib? I should have starved most likely had I not killed him. Besides he was the first traveller I met after those good omens; he was neither blind nor lame; assuredly therefore he was bunij. It must have been his fate to die, or I should not have gone to sleep under that tree. Had I met him in the road, I should have hesitated to attack him: indeed, unarmed as I was, I dared not have done so. But, as I was saying, I examined the humeana; I found in it nineteen rupees, a gold nose-ring, and two gold rings for the fingers which were worth at least forty rupees. Ul-humd-ul-illa! I cried, this is rare fortune; here is enough to last me for three months, and to provide me with new clothes; and it will be hard but in that time I find out some of my brethren.
I searched around the village to endeavour to find some traces of Thugs in the mango and tamarind groves by which it was environed; and though I discovered some fire-places, with the peculiar marks of my brethren in them, yet they were old, the rain had more than half washed them away, and the marks would have been undistinguishable to a less experienced Thug than myself. I could discover no further clue from them, though I walked for some time in the direction they pointed.
Wandering along the next day, I reached Calpee on the Jumna, and sitting one morning at the shop of a pan-seller, some persons stopped at it, and talking among themselves, I understood that they were going to Chutterpoor. Chutterpoor, thought I,—what an owl I have been! there must be Thugs there, and I had forgotten it. So I immediately determined, if possible, to accompany them. I watched them to a bunnea's empty shop, before which, in the street, were tied four tattoos and some bullocks; and without ceremony I told them I had overheard their conversation, that I was also going to the town to which they were journeying, and, if they would allow me and pardon my intrusion, I should be glad to travel in their company, as I was alone, knew not the road, and was afraid of robbers.
"Since you are alone, you may come, and welcome," said the man I addressed. "But we are going by Bandah, which is not exactly in the direct road to Chutterpoor, and our business may detain us there a day or two; if, therefore, delay is of no consequence to you, come with us; you seem to be a soldier, and we are poor merchants who would be glad of your protection."
"Such as I am, good sir," said I, "I am at your service, and will gladly accompany you to Bandah."
"Good!" replied the man; "we start early, and you had better be with us betimes; or you can spread your carpet here as you please."
"I will do the latter," replied I, "and be with you by the evening."
Bandah! thought I; another place full of Thugs—at least it used to be. I shall see at any rate, and if I find any, I may then alter my route. I joined them in the evening, as I had promised, and we reached Bandah in a few days by long marches. Here they declared they would stay four days, so that I had ample time before me to search the place for Thugs, should any reside there. Nor was I disappointed in my hope of meeting them. I was sauntering through the town in the evening of the day we arrived, when I met Hoormut, an old follower of Ganesha; he did not at first recognise me, as may readily be imagined, and when I gave him our token of recognition, he stared as though I had been an apparition; however, he was soon convinced of my reality, and I accompanied him to his house. The relation of my adventures and mishaps occupied a long time, and after I had finished them I naturally asked for an account of my old associate Ganesha. What I heard was gratifying to me; Hoormut declared him to be in misfortune, abandoned by his followers, and that he was wandering with one or two men somewhere in the neighbourhood of Saugor, preferring the precarious chance of booty in the jungles between that place and Nagpoor, to frequenting the more open and travelled country. Next followed questions as to my present plans; and when he heard I was alone and travelling with merchants, of course it naturally followed that some plan should be undertaken for their destruction.
"Look you, Meer Sahib," said he, "I believe I can muster as many as fifteen Thugs in and near this place. I am not suspected as yet, but the country is getting too hot for us, and we must either quit it or give up Thuggee, whichno man, you well know, can do after he has eaten the goor; the others are of the same way of thinking, and we had determined that we would leave this place for good after the rains, and go wherever our fate might lead us."
We soon afterwards separated for the time, Hoormut promising to collect the men by the next evening. I joined him again by the time appointed, and found the whole assembled. I was received with exultation, for they had wanted a leader in whom they could confide, and mine was a name which, in spite of my recent misfortunes, they could look up to. I knew none of them, but they swore on the pickaxe to follow me; Hoormut vouched for their several capabilities and fidelity, and I was satisfied.
Our plan was soon formed. They were to go by two stages to a village they knew; there they were to wait for my arrival with the merchants. Beyond the village was a favourite bhil of theirs, and they would have everything prepared against our coming up. All this being settled, we fixed the next morning (it being Monday and a lucky day) to observe the omens and open the expedition with due form. The omens were declared to be satisfactory, and by noon my new companions had started with their families for their station on the road.
We strangled the merchants at the place we had fixed on, them and their bullock-drivers,—nine in all, and yet we were only seventeen Thugs; but we were desperate. In our route we had travelled towards Jhalone, and I could no longer delay my project of proceeding thither, and making over my concealed treasure to the good Moola who had charge of my child. Hoormut volunteered to accompany me; and desiring the remainder of the band to make the best of their way to Calpee, and there to await our arrival, we pushed on to Jhalone.
Considering the risk we ran, in approaching a place where inevitable death awaitedme, should I be discovered, we did well to disguise ourselves as Gosaeens. We covered our bodies with ashes, matted the hair on our heads with mud, hung gourds at our waist, and in this mean and wretched disguise we entered the town—that spot where I had passed so many years of happiness, where my fairest prospects had been blighted, and the resolutions I had formed of leading a new life and forsaking Thuggee, rendered alike impracticable and distasteful to me. My emotions on entering the town, and more than all on passing the house where I had resided, were overpowering; but I rallied my heart; I passed through the city, and my friend and myself took up our abode for the day near a well outside the gates, which was not far from the spot where I had buried my treasure. We had selected the best disguise possible for my purpose; we were visited during the day by some Hindoos, who came, some out of curiosity, and a few to offer alms to us; my companion replied to their inquiries and declared me to be under a vow of silence, which satisfied them, and they departed, leaving us to prosecute our plans.
As the evening approached, I strolled towards the trees under which was deposited the sum I had hoarded up to serve me at any time of need. It was a deserted burial-place, overgrown by custard-apple bushes and other brushwood, and the rank grass had sprung up from the frequent rain. My heart beat quick as I approached the spot; my hoard might have been discovered, and if it had been removed my child would be a beggar, dependent upon the charity of strangers; she might even be thrust into the street, to herd with the vile and worthless, when the care of her became irksome or expensive to her present protectors. But anything, thought I, is better than that she should accompany me, where a life of hardship would be her portion, and where she could not escape the contamination which scenes of guilt and murder would effect in a short time, and from which, alone as I was, I could not protect her.
I reached the tomb in which, by removing a stone, I had placed the vessel containing the money. I hardly dared look at the well-remembered spot, hardly dared attempt to remove the stone; but I did remove it, and, O joy ofjoys, there was my treasure undisturbed! I hastily seized the earthen vessel, and crawled with it into the thickest of the underwood ere I ventured to open and examine it. I had forgotten what it contained, and the contents surpassed my expectations. I found thirty ashruffees and four small bars of gold, a box containing two strings of pearls of some value and some jewels, and tied up in a rag were some loose stones of value, one of them a diamond of great lustre and beauty. The jewels I determined to keep, as they might be afterwards of use to me, not only from their value, but to enable me to assume the character of a dealer in precious stones, which is always a respectable calling and for which, in the jewels before me, I had ample stock for trade. I replaced the vessel and its precious contents, which could not have been worth less than a thousand rupees; and I felt my heart lightened of a load, both at seeing my treasure safe, and at the assurance it gave me that by means of it my daughter would be decently provided for. I returned to my companion, who had been anxiously watching my proceedings, and he too rejoiced at my good fortune.
I did not proceed into the town till it was dusk: the gates, I knew, would be open until long after dark, and I went alone to avoid any chance of being remarked. I soon reached the house of the Moola, when, abandoning my character of a Gosaeen, I asked for alms in a lusty voice in the name of Moula Ali of Hyderabad. Fortunately the old Moola was sitting alone in his verandah; I saw him through the open gate, and advanced rapidly, shutting it behind me. He was engaged in reading his Koran, and was rocking himself to and fro, apparently absorbed in the book before him, so that he did not observe my approach; nor was he aware of my presence till I had prostrated myself before him.
"Punah i Khoda!" he exclaimed; "what is this, a Gosaeen? thou must be mad, good friend; or what seekest thou with the old Moola? Speak, thou hast almost frightened me, and disturbed my meditations on the holy volume."
"Pardon, Moolajee!" I cried; "you see one before you who has risked his life to speak with you, and you must listen to me for a few moments. I know you well, though you do not recognise me in this disguise."
"I know thee not, friend," he said; "nevertheless, if I can do aught to serve thee, speak; yet it is seldom that the Hindoo seeks the house of the priest of the Moslem faith; and I am in astonishment at thy garb and address."
"Moola!" I said, "I would fain speak with thee in absolute secrecy; are we secure from interruption here? Fear me not; I come with good intent, and am not what you think me, but one of thine own faith;" and I repeated the Belief.
"Strange, most strange is this," said the old man rising; "I doubt thee not: no one would do the old Moola harm; and so, as thou requirest secrecy, I will but fasten the outer gate and join thee instantly." He did so, and returned.
"Moola," said I, when he was once more seated, and was prying into my face with a look of mingled curiosity and wonder, "Moolajee! O Wullee Mahomed! dost thou not recognise me?"
"Thy voice is familiar to mine ears," said the old man, "yet I remember not thy features. Who art thou?"
"Mine is a name which may hardly be pronounced in Jhalone," I replied; "but we are alone. Have you forgotten Ameer Ali?"
"Punah!" exclaimed the Moola, sidling away from me to the edge of his carpet; "Punah i Khoda! do I behold that bad and reckless man?"
"Bad I may be, Moola," said I quietly; "and reckless I certainly am; yet I wish thee no harm. You were kind to one I loved—you have my child in your house—it is of them I would speak, not of myself. Tell me, for the sake of Alla, whether my child is well—tell me whether she lives, and I will bless you." I gasped for breath while he replied, lest I should perchance have to hear of further misfortune.
"This is madness, Ameer Ali," said he; "know you not that your father's fate awaits you if you are discovered here?"
"I know, I know all," said I; "and I have braved everything. I have sought you despite of danger—for my heart clove to my child, and I would fain hear of her. Ah, Moola, think not of what I was, and be merciful to me."
"Unhappy man!" he cried; "thy crimes brought with them their own reward; but I will not speak of the past. Know then that thy daughter is well; but she grieves still for thee and for her mother, whom Alla in mercy removed from her sufferings before she knew her degradation."
"Shookr Khoda!" I exclaimed: "ah, Alla, thou art merciful even to me. And my child is well, and remembers me?"
"She does, Meer Sahib; she often speaks of you, but we have told her you are dead, and she no longer thinks of you as one whom she may ever meet again."
"And you are right, Moola," said I; "you are wise in having done this. May Alla repay your kindness to a deserted child, for I cannot. I have sought you for a purpose which you must promise to agree to, even before I speak it—it is the only request I shall ever make for my child, and from henceforth you will never see my face again nor hear my name."
"Speak," said the Moola; "I promise nothing, Ameer Ali; thou hast deceived thousands, and the old Moola is no match for thee in deceit."
"Briefly then," said I, "there was a small treasure which I buried in a field here long ago: I have returned and found it safe. It is a trifle, yet it is of no use to me; and I would give it over to you, both as a portion for my daughter when she is married, and as some provision for her until that can be effected."
"The spoil of the murdered," said the old man, drawing himself up proudly, "can never enter the house of the Moola; it would bring a curse with it, and I will have none of it. Keep it yourself, Ameer Ali, and may Alla give you the grace to use it in regaining the honest reputation you have lost."
"No, no," cried I; "the money was my wife's; she had hoarded it up for our child; she brought it with her from the Dukhun, and it has remained as she placed it in the vessel. I swear to you that it is honest money; would I curse my child with the spoil of murders?"
"Swear to me on the Koran that it is, and I will believe you, Ameer Ali, but not else;" and he tendered me the holy book.
I raised it to my lips; I kissed it, and touched my forehead and eyes with it. I swore to what was false; but it was for my child. "Are you satisfied now?" I asked; "now that you have humbled me by obliging me to swear?"
"I am," he replied; "your trust shall be carefully and religiously kept. Have you the money with you?"
"No," said I; "but I will go and return with it instantly. Admit me alone; I will cough at your gate when I arrive."
I hastened to the spot I have before described; I hastily seized my treasure and returned to the Moola; he was waiting for me at the gate of his house, and we entered it together. "Here is all I have," said I, pouring out the contents of the vessel on the carpet; "it is not much, but it is the only portion of my wealth which remains to me."
"Think not of the past, Meer Sahib, what happened was predestinated, and was the will of the All-powerful!"
"I have indeed no alternative but to submit, good Moola. But my time is short, and night advances; ere morning breaks, I must be far away from this, where my associates expect me. One favour I would beg,—it is, to see my child: one look will be sufficient for my soul to dwell on in after years, for I am assured that it will be the last—you will not deny me?"
"I will not, Meer Sahib; she is now at play with a neighbour's child in the zenana, and if you will follow me I will show her to you. One look must be sufficient for you; after that she is mine, and I will be a father to her. Follow me." I did; I followed him through a court-yard to the door of a second, which was the entrance to his zenana. I heard the merry voices of the children, as they played with light and joyful hearts, and I could distinguish the silvery tones of my precious child's voice, so like those of her mother, which were now silent for ever.
"We will not disturb them, Meer Sahib," said the Moola in a whisper, as he pushed open the door gently; "look in, so that you may not be seen; you will easily distinguish your daughter."
Yes, she was there, my child, my beautiful child! still delicate and fragile as she had ever been; but her face had a joyous expression, and she was as merryas those by whom she was surrounded. Long, long I gazed, and oh, my heart yearned to rush in, and for the last time to clasp her to my bosom and bless her. But I restrained myself; she would not, could not have recognized me in the disguise I wore and I should have only needlessly alarmed and terrified her. Yet I put up a fervent prayer to Alla for her protection and happiness, and I tore myself from the spot—dejected, yet satisfied that she still lived and was happy.
"Enough!" said I to the Moola, when we regained the outer apartment; "I now leave you; be kind to my child, and Alla will more than repay you for aught of care or anxiety she may cause you. What I have given you will be ample for a dowry to her in marriage with any person you may select—any one who may be ignorant of her father's shame."
"I will: and rest assured that wherever you are, whatever your after lot in life may be, you never need give one anxious thought about Meeran; for I again repeat it, I am now her parent, and she has also found another mother."
"I believe you," said I; "and if ever I am again favoured by fortune and in a situation to come to you without shame to her, you shall take me to her and present a father to his child: until then you hear not of me again."
I left him. I had borne up against my feelings, I had struggled against and overcome them so long as I was with him; but as I passed his threshold the fond love of a parent would not be stifled: I was overcome by bitter grief, and I sat down and wept, for I felt that I had seen my child for the last time,—and it was even so; I have never beheld her since, Sahib, nor ever been able to get a clue to her fate. May Alla grant she is happy, and knows not of mine! But of this more hereafter.
I wept! yes, I sat at the threshold of what had been my own home and wept, yet not aloud. My eyes were a fountain of tears, and they welled over their lids, and coursed down my rough visage, and fell hot upon my hands. My memory was busy with the past, that period of bliss when all earthly joy was my portion, and with it wealth and fame. All was gone—gone like the fleeting dream—a mockery, which, gorgeous or blissful as it may be while it possesses the sleeping senses, is broken—even the remembrance of it lost—by awakening to reality. Alla help me! I said, in the bitterness of my heart at that moment; I am, indeed, desolate, and it matters not what becomes of me: I have no hope.
How long I thus sat I know not; but, arousing myself by a sudden thought of the danger I was in, I rose up, took one long, sad survey of what was once my own, but which was now deserted; and hurrying away from the spot, I reached the gate as it was about to be shut, and soon afterwards joined my companion.
At length we reached Calpee, where we found the band and their families; and at a council of all assembled, after many plans of proceeding had been discussed, and many plans proposed for our final settling-place by the different members, I opened to them one of my own, which I had long entertained. It was, to proceed to Lukhnow by a boat, which could be easily hired, and to remain there, as it was a city which promised an ample harvest to a Thug; and, from the not over-strict character of its government, a more likely one than any other to enable us to pursue our calling with security. The plan was agreed on; and the next morning I betook myself to the Ghaut, to hold communication with the Manjees of the boats, and to strike a bargain for their conveyance of my party.
All was arranged to the satisfaction of my associates; and at the hour appointed, which had been declared a lucky moment by some astrologer employed by the boatmen, the anchor was raised, and a fair wind carried us rapidly over the smooth waters. Day after day passed in this manner, and there was a kind of dreamy pleasure about the voyage, which was indescribably grateful to me. Here I had no alarms, no fatiguing journeys, no anxiety; my mind became calm and unruffled, and I was once more at peace.
At Lukhnow we lived for some time upon the proceeds of our last booty, and I established a small traffic in precious stones, upon those I had brought with me; but it yielded small returns to me, and I only delayed commencing operationstill I could fix upon some settled plans. I had erred deeply in leaving my own country; if I needs must have left it, I ought to have gone to the Dukhun: there I should have succeeded—I should have risen; for the Dukhun Thugs required leaders, and, as you may have heard, whenever a Hindostan Jemadar led them, they behaved well and became the terror of the country. Here, I was in a place of which I was ignorant, and I dared not venture to take to the roads. At length I thought I would attempt the same system we had practised so successfully at Hyderabad. No sooner had the idea possessed me, than I longed to put it into execution; the more so, as my associates received it with ardour, and seemed strongly convinced of its practicability. We were unknown in that crowded and vicious city, lived in an obscure part, and could never be suspected in our daily perambulations through the bazars in search of bunij. And so it turned out; we were in great luck for two months, money flowed in upon us, and we had killed upwards of thirty persons, mostly travellers to distant parts, whom we decoyed from the serais; and as we succeeded, I had more money at my disposal, and was enabled to bribe several of the serai-keepers; and by allowing them to participate to a large amount in our gains, I secured admission to the serais, and had facilities of speaking with travellers, which I should never have enjoyed had I neglected to secure their goodwill. But fortune was against me, despite of this cheering commencement, and we did not long enjoy our easy and profitable career.
We had one day taken out of the city a party of seven travellers, we being sixteen Thugs in number. I well remember it was a Friday, an unlucky day at best. Among the Thugs was an old man, one of the old Murnae stock, a capital Bhuttote, who had joined us a short time before; he had known my father, and me when a child, and had recognized me in a street in Lukhnow, which led to his joining us. We had taken the travellers to a favourite bhil of ours about four coss distant, and were in the act of strangling them,—some even lay dead on the ground, and the rest were in their last agonies,—when by the merest chance a body of horse, which were on their way from the city to a distant pergunnah, came upon us. We had grown too confident from our frequent successes,—it was still far from morning, and we had neglected to place scouts. The horse came upon us unheard and unseen, and, as I have told you, caught us in the very act. Nine of us were seized after a faint resistance; the rest—fortunate men!—made their escape. Our hands were bound behind us, and we were dragged into the city, objects of wonder and terror to the inhabitants. The bodies were brought in after us; and two of the travellers who had been only half strangled, and were revived by the horsemen, gave so clear an account of our whole proceedings, how we had inveigled them and accompanied them on their march till we attacked them unawares, that no doubt remained of our guilt; and after our brief trial had been concluded before the Kazee, we were cast into prison, to await our fate. The old Thug and myself had been bound together, and we were in this state thrust into one of the narrow cells of the jail. There we were told we should remain till the pleasure of the king was known regarding us.
Again I was in prison; and although not in such wretched plight as I had been at Jhalone, for the cell was roomy and tolerably clean, yet still it was a prison,—confinement to my limbs and to my spirit; a conviction which threatened my life hung over me; and as I saw no prospect of escape, I was resigned to die, and to meet my fate like a man and a Thug who had been familiar with death from his childhood. We sat in silence, and my wretched companion, old as he was, clung to the idea of life with a fondness that I felt not. He had no ties on earth to bind him to it, he had never had any, yet he longed to live. Ihadpossessed them,—they were all broken, and life had no charms for me. I could not say that I wished for death, but I was indifferent to my fate.
A week passed thus—a long, interminable week. In vain was it that Iimplored my jailors to relieve me from suspense, to tell me whether I was to live or die: either they knew not, or their hearts were hardened towards me; they would not tell me. But after the expiration of this period, we were not long ignorant of our sentence. We were informed that seven of our companions had been hanged, as they had been detected in the act of strangling the travellers. But there was no evidence against us so conclusive; the merchants who had escaped the fate of their associates could not swear that we had murdered any of those who had perished; and the horsemen who had captured us knew no more than that we were of the party. If this had been all, we should probably have been released; but one of the miserable men who had been executed, in a vain attempt to preserve his life, confessed his crimes; and by this last stroke of ill fortune we were convicted, and the decree went forth that we were to be imprisoned for life.
Despair seized on my faculties at the announcement of this hard sentence. Death in its most horrible shape would have been courted joyfully by me in preference to it. To linger out years and years in that wretched hole, never to be free again! I could not believe it: I tried to shut out the dreadful reality from my mind, but in vain. I implored that they would lead me to instant execution, that I might be impaled, or blown away from a gun, or hanged,—anything rather than have my miserable existence protracted in the solitude and suffering of a prison. But my entreaties were laughed at or scorned. I was loaded with a heavy chain, which confined my legs, my companion the same, and we were left to our fate. Still my restless spirit held out to me hopes of escape,—hopes that only mocked me, for every plan I formed became utterly impracticable, and this only increased my misery. One day I bethought me of the money I had collected before I was seized. It was hidden, and it was not improbable that my hoard had remained undiscovered. With this I fondly hoped I should be enabled to bribe one of my jailors; and the idea comforted me for many days, while I waited for an opportunity to put it into execution.
There was one among the guards of the prison, a young man, who was always kinder in his deportment to us than any of the others. The food he brought us was better, and the water always pure and in a clean vessel. He used to cheer us too sometimes with the hope that our imprisonment would not last so long as had been decreed; and he instanced the cases of several criminals who had been sentenced like us, but who had been released when the memory of their crimes had ceased to occupy the minds of the officers in charge of the prison. He had our clothes washed for us, and did a thousand kind acts—trifles perhaps, but still more than we experienced from any other of his companions.
It was with him, therefore, that I proposed to my fellow-captive to try our long-brooded and cherished scheme of deliverance. The next time it was his turn to attend us, I begged he would come to the cell at night or in the evening, when he would be secure from observation, for that I had something particular to communicate to him. He came in the evening of that day, and seated himself, muffled in a dark-coloured blanket, close to the bars of our cell.
"You have something to say I think," said he in a low tone, "and I have done your bidding; I am here."
"I have, good Meer Sahib," said I, (for he was also a Syud;) "listen, for what I would communicate to you will be for your benefit, if you will enter into my plans."
"Say on," replied the youth; "you may command my utmost exertions."
"To be brief then," I continued, "you must endeavour to effect our escape."
"It is impossible," he said.
"Not so," cried I; "nothing is impossible to willing hands and stout hearts. You can manage everything if you will but listen to me. When we were apprehended, we had saved a round sum of money, which is concealed in a spot I can tell you of, if you will be faithful to us. Half of it shall be yours, if you will only aid us."
"How much is it?" he asked.
"Upwards of five hundred rupees," said I; "it was securely hidden, and no one can have discovered it. I repeat, half of it shall be yours if you will assist us."
"How can I?" cried he, in a tone of perplexity; "how is it possible that you can pass these doors and walls, even were you as free as I am at this moment?"
"Leave that to me," said I; "do you accept the offer?"
"I will consider of the matter, and will be here at this time to-morrow, to give you a final answer."
"May Alla send you kind thoughts to the distressed! we shall look for your decision with impatience."
The next evening he came at the same time, and seated himself as before. "What would you have me do, Meer Sahib?" he asked; "I am ready to obey your commands if they are practicable. First, however, I must be secure of the money you have mentioned; I must receive it before I peril my situation, and, more than that, my life in your behalf."
"Listen then, Meer Sahib," said I; "I trust you,—you are a Syud and I also am one; you dare not deceive me, and incur the wrath of Alla."
"I will not, by the Prophet, whose descendant I am," said he; "were the Koran in my hands this moment, I would swear upon it."
"No, no," said I, "do not swear; the word of an honest man is far more binding than an oath. I believe that you are true, and therefore it is that I trust you. First, then, as regards the money; do you remember two old tombs, one of them much broken, which stand near the river's brink over the the north side of the city, about a cannon-shot from the wall?"
"I do, perfectly."
"Then," I continued, "in that broken one is an earthen vessel, containing the money; the vault where of old the body of the person over whom the tomb was erected was deposited, can be opened by removing four stones, which are loose, from the eastern side of it; they are neither large nor heavy, and you can manage the matter alone. In the cavity you will find the vessel, and the money is in it. I shall require half for my expenses. Now all I ask you for the present to do in return is, to procure us two small and sharp files and some ghee; and when we have cut through our chains, and one of these bars, I will tell you how you can aid us further."
"I will perform all you wish," said the youth; "and Inshalla! you shall have the files to-morrow night by this time, if I find that your statement about the money is true."
He then left us, and we anxiously and impatiently awaited his coming the next day. Nor did he disappoint us. "I have come, as you see, Meer Sahib," he said; "and behold, here are the files for you—they are English, and new and sharp; here too is the ghee. I have fulfilled my promise."
"And the money?" I asked.
"Without it you would not have seen me to-night, I can tell you, Meer Sahib. I have got it; the amount is five hundred and fifty rupees, and you shall be welcome to your share when you have got out of this hole. And how do you intend to manage this part of your scheme?"
"Are the gates of the prison shut at night?" I asked.
"No," he replied; "that is, the gate is shut, but the wicket is always open."
"And how many men guard it?"
"Only one, Meer Sahib; the rest sleep soundly after midnight."
"It is well," said I; "we can but perish in the attempt, and I for one would gladly die, rather than linger out a wretched existence here."
"And I also," said my companion.
"I fear I cannot assist you," said the man: "yet stay, suppose you were to attempt your escape when I am on guard. I shall have the last watch to-morrow night."
"May the blessing of Alla rest on you!" said I; "you have anticipated my thoughts. We will attempt it then, and may the Prophet aid us. All night we will work at our irons and one of these bars, and to-morrow night we shall be free. Go, kind friend, you do but risk detection in being seen here."
He left us, and we set to work with a good will to cut the irons on our legs and the bar. All night we worked, and the morning's light saw the iron bar nearly cut through at the top and bottom; to cut it at the top, one of us sat down by turns, while the other standing on his shoulders filed till his arm was tired. Despite of the ghee, however, the files made a creaking noise; wetried to prevent this by using them slowly, but in the excitement of the moment this was at times forgotten, for we worked hard for our liberty.
The morning broke, and we rested from our labour; one strong shake would have separated the bar, and our irons were so nearly cut through at the ancles and the waist, that a slight wrench would have divided them. Our friend we knew was faithful, for he had proved himself so, and we enjoyed a silent anticipation of our eventual triumph. "This time to-morrow," I exclaimed, "we shall be free, far from Lukhnow, and the world again before us, wherein to choose a residence!"
My companion was as full of hope as I was, and we passed most of the morning in debating whither we should go, and calling to mind the names of our former associates who would welcome us, and join us in seeking new adventures. It was about noon, I think, that a party of the soldiers of the prison, headed by the Darogha, approached our cell. My heart sunk within me as I saw them coming, and the haste with which they advanced towards us increased my alarm and apprehension. "We are lost!" said I to my companion; "they have discovered our plans." He did not reply, but despair was written on his countenance. The Darogha applied his key to the lock; it was opened, and the whole party rushed in and seized us.
"What new tyranny is this?" I exclaimed; "what new crime have we committed, that we are again to be ill-treated?"
"Look to their irons!" cried the Darogha to his men.
"You have been busy it seems," said he to us, when they found them in the state I have described. "Let me give you a piece of advice; when you next file your irons, either use more ghee or make less noise. But you will hardly have another opportunity, I think. Search them well," continued he to the men; "see where these instruments are which they have used so cleverly."
They stripped us stark naked, and the files were found in the bands of our trowsers through which the string that ties them runs. The Darogha examined them carefully. "These are new, Meer Sahib, and English. Inshalla! we will find out who supplied you with them. The fellow who has done this assuredly has eaten dirt."
"We brought them here with us," said I, doggedly. "Ye were sons of asses that ye did not search us when we entered your den of tyranny."
"We may be sons of asses," he replied, grinning, "but we are not such owls as to believe you, O wise and cunning Syud; Thug as you are, we are not going to eat dirt at your hands. Some friend you have had among my men; one is suspected; and if these files can help us to trace him—and it is probable enough—he had better say the Kulma, for his head and shoulders will not long remain together. But come," said he to his men, "your work is only half done; examine every foot of these bars; for my worthy friends here, rely upon it, have not half done their business."
They obeyed him, and, as you may suppose, soon found the bar which had been cut.
"Enough!" said the Darogha. "You were a fool, O Meer Sahib, for this wild attempt. Had you been content to bear your deserved imprisonment, mercy might in time have been shown to you; but now, give up all hope; you have forfeited that mercy by your own imprudence, and you will long live to repent it. Bring them along," said he to his men; "we must put them into narrower and safer lodgings."
Ya Alla, Sahib, what a place they led us to! A narrow passage, between two high walls, which but just admitted of a man's passing along it, contained, about half-way down, two cells, more like the dens of wild beasts than aught else. They were more strongly grated than the last we had been in, and were not half the size. Far heavier irons than those we had last worn were fastened on our legs by a blacksmith, and we were thrust into our horrible abodes.
"Now," said the Darogha, "get out if you can, Meer Sahib. If walls and iron bars can hold you, you are pretty safe here, I think."
They left us, and once more we were cast into the abyss of despair; nor was there one ray of hope left to cheer our gloomy and wretched thoughts. Here am I to live, here am I to die, thought I, as I surveyed the narrow chamber,—I who have roamed for years over the world, I who have never knownrestraint. Alla! Alla! what have I done that this should be? O Bhowanee, hast thou so utterly forsaken Ameer Ali? I cast myself down on the rough floor, and groaned in agony. I could not weep, tears were denied me; they would have soothed my overburthened soul. A cup of misery was before me, and I was to drain it to the dregs. Hope had fled, and despair had seized and benumbed every faculty of my mind.
Months rolled on. Though only a strong grating of iron bars divided me from my old companion, we seldom spoke to each other; at most it was a word, a passing remark hazarded by the one, and scarcely heeded by the other, so absorbed were we in our misery. I ate and drank mechanically, I had no craving for food; and what they gave us to eat was of the coarsest kind. The filth which accumulated in our cells was removed only once a week, and it bred vermin which sorely tormented us. Oh that I could die! I cried a thousand times a day. Alas! my prayer was not granted.
The second year of our captivity passed—the same unvarying rotation of misery—no change, no amelioration of our condition. We existed, but no more; the energies of life were dead within us. I used to think, were I ever released, that I could not bear the rude bustle of the world; that I should even prefer my captivity to its anxieties and cares. It was a foolish thought, for I often yearned for freedom, and occupied my mind with vain thoughts and plans for future action, should any lucky chance give me my liberty; but no ray of hope broke in upon the misery of my dungeon.
I mean not to say that my companion, the old Thug, and I never conversed; we did so now and then; we recounted our exploits again and again, and by thus recalling mine to my memory, from the beginning of my career, I stored up in my mind the adventures and vicissitudes I have related to you. One day we had been talking of my father, and his parting words to me, "I am not your father," flashed across my thoughts. I mentioned the circumstance to the old Thug, and earnestly requested him to tell me what he knew of Ismail, and of my early state.
"What!" he asked, "so you know not of it, Meer Sahib? Surely Ismail must have told you all? And yet," continued he, after a pause, "he would not have done it—he dared not."
"What can you mean," cried I, "by saying he dared not? Was I his son, or did he say truly when he declared I was not?"
"He spoke the truth, Meer Sahib. I know your origin, and it is just possible there may be one or two others who do also, and who are still living: one of these is Ganesha."
"Ganesha!" I exclaimed; "by Alla! my soul has ever told me that he knew something of me. I have striven in vain to bring any scene in which he was concerned with me to my recollection, and always failed. By your soul! tell me who and what I was."
"'Tis a long tale, Ameer Ali," said the old man, "but I will endeavour to remember all I can of it; it is one too which, were you not what you are, would horrify you."
"My parents were murdered then?" said I, my heart sinking within me. "I have sometimes thought so, but my conjectures were vague and unsatisfactory."
"You have guessed truly, Meer Sahib. But listen, my memory is still fresh, and you shall know all.
"Ismail, your father, as he called himself to you, became a Thug under Hoosein Jemadar, whom no doubt you remember. I well recollect the day he joined us, at a village not very far from Delhi; I was then a youth, and belonged to the band of which Hoosein was one of the best Bhuttotes."
"I know Ismail's history," said I; "he related it to me."
"Then I need not repeat it," he continued. "In time Ismail, by his bravery and wisdom, rose far above Hoosein, and became the Jemadar of a band of thirty Thugs. It is of this time I would speak. We were one day at a village called Ekléra, in Malwa, encamped outside the place, in a grove of trees near a well. We had been unlucky for some time before, as it was the season of the rains, when but few travellers are abroad, and we were eagerly looking for bunij.
"Ismail and Ganesha had been into the bazar, and returned with the joyful news that a party was about to set off towards Indoor, and that we were to precede them by a march, and halt whenever we thought them secure to us. I and another Thug were directed to watch their movements, while the main body went on. The information was correct, and we dogged them till the third or fourth march, when, at a village whose name I forget, we found the band halted, and rejoined it. The party consisted of a respectable man, and his wife and child, an old woman, and some young men of the village who accompanied them. The man rode a good horse, and his wife travelled in a palankeen. They were your parents, Meer Sahib."
"Go on," said I in a hoarse voice; "my memory seems to follow your narration." O Sahib! I was fearfully interested and excited.
"Well," continued he, "not long after they had arrived, Ismail and Ganesha went into the bazar, dressed in their best clothes, to scrape an acquaintance with your father, and, as Ismail told us afterwards, this was effected through you; he saw you playing in the streets, gave you some sweetmeats, and afterwards rescued you from the violence of some of the village boys who would have robbed you of them. This led to his speaking with your mother, and eventually to his becoming acquainted with your father. The end of all was, that they agreed to accompany us, and dismissed the young men by whom they had been previously attended. Does your memory aid you now, Meer Sahib, or shall I finish the relation?"
"It does," said I, "most vividly as you proceed. But go on; without your assistance, I lose the thread of my sad history." He resumed.
"Ismail in those days always rode a good horse, as also did Ganesha. He grew fond of you, and you of him, and he used to take you up before him and carry you most part of the march, or till you became fatigued. This went on for some days, but we were approaching Indoor, and it was necessary to bring the matter to a close; besides our cupidity was strongly excited by the accounts we heard from Ismail of your father's wealth, as he had told him that he carried a large sum of ready money with him. At last the bhil was determined. I could show it you now; it was close to a river, and, before the party had crossed, the jhirnee was given. We strangled them all. Ganesha killed your mother, the old woman was allotted to me; Ismail had his share also, and I believe it was your father. You had been riding upon Ismail's horse all the morning—at least after the rain had ceased—and when the jhirnee was given you were half across the river; I saw you fall, and as you did not move afterwards, I thought you were killed. You moved however, and Ganesha ran towards you; he threw the roomal about your neck, and was in the act of strangling you, when Ismail, who had uttered a cry of despair on seeing Ganesha's action, arrived just in time to prevent his deadly purpose. They had a serious quarrel about you, and even drew their swords; but Ismail prevailed, and led you to where the bodies were lying and being stripped by the Lughaees. You became frantic when you saw your mother; you clung to her body and could hardly be torn from it; you raved and cursed us all, but terror overcame you at last, and perhaps pain also, for you fainted. Ismail, when the bodies had been disposed of, and the plunder collected, mounted his horse and took you up before him; and turning off the road, we travelled in another direction.
"How you ever bore that journey I know not; you were a thin and delicate child, and we all said you would die; but you bore it well, and when we reached a place in the jungle, I was sent to a village for milk, and you drank some. Here again Ismail and Ganesha had a second quarrel about you; Ganesha said you were too old to adopt, that you would remember all that had happened, and that he would strangle you; and the abuse that you poured upon him made him still more savage. Again they drew their swords, and would have fought about you, but we prevented them.
"You were taken away by me to a distance; I rubbed your swollen neck, and Ismail gave you a strong dose of opium, which put you to sleep, and we again resumed our flight.
"Ganesha and he were never cordial friends after that day; they never acted in concert again until, as I heard, in your last expedition; and though they preserved an outward show of civility to each other, their hate was as strong as ever.
"Ismail took you to his home. He was married, but had no children; and as you grew up and improved under his kind and fatherly treatment, he became proud of you, and used often to say to us that he regretted your father had left your sister behind when he undertook his fatal journey to Indoor."
"My sister!" cried I, in an agony of apprehension.
"Yes, Meer Sahib, your sister. I, for one, heard your father say that he left her behind, as she was too young to be moved. You might get news of her at Ekléra, if you ever get out of this cursed hole."
But he now spoke to one bereft of sense—of any feeling save that of choking, withering, blighting agony. Why did not my heartstrings crack in that moment? Why did I live to drag a load of remorse with me to my grave? Yet it has even been so. I live, and I have borne my misery as best I could; to most I appear calm and cheerful, but the wound rankles in my heart; and could you but know my sufferings, Sahib, you would, perhaps, pity me. Not in the daytime is my mind disturbed by the thoughts of the past; it is at night, when all is still around me, and sleep falls not upon my weary eyelids, that I see again before me the form of my unfortunate sister; again I fancy my hands busy with her beautiful neck, and the vile piece of coin for which I killed her seems again in my grasp as I tore it from her warm bosom. Sahib, there is no respite from these hideous thoughts; if I eat opium—which I do in large quantities, to produce a temporary oblivion—I behold the same scene in the dreams which it causes, and it is distorted and exaggerated by the effects of the drug. Nay, this is worse to bear than the simple reality, to which I sometimes become accustomed, until one vision more vivid that its predecessors again plunges me into despair of its ever quitting me.
Sahib, after that fatal relation, I know not what I did for many days. I believe I raved, and they thought me mad, but my mind was strong and not to be overthrown. I recovered, though slowly, and again and again I retraced in my memory the whole of my life till that miserable day on which I murdered my sister! It could have been no other.
I tried in vain to cheat myself into the belief that it was another, but no effort that I made could shake the conviction that it was she. My unaccountable recollection of Ekléra—the relation of my father's death by the old man there—his almost recognition of me—and, more than all, the old and worthless coin for which I destroyed her, and which I now remembered perfectly—all were undeniable proofs of my crime; and conviction, though I tried to shut it out, entered into my soul, and abode there. Alla help me, I was a wretched being! My hair turned gray, my form and strength wasted, and any one who had seen me before I listened to the old Thug's tale would not have recognized me two months afterwards. A kind of burning fever possessed me; my blood felt hot as it coursed through my veins; and the night, oh how I dreaded it! I never slept, except by day, when exhausted nature at length claimed some respite. Night after night, for months and months, I either rolled to and fro on my miserable pallet, or sat up and rocked myself, groaning the while in remorse and anguish. No other act of my life rose up in judgment against me—none but that one; I tried even to think on others, but they passed from my mind as quickly as they entered it, and my sister was ever before me.
You know the worst, Sahib—think of me as you will, I deserve it. I cannot justify the deed to myself, much less to you; and the only consolation I have—that it was the work of fate, of unerring destiny—is but a weak one, that gives way before the conviction of my own guilt. I must bear my curse, I must wither under it. I pray for death, and as often, too, pray that I may live, and that my measure of punishment may be allotted to me here, that my soul may not burn in Jehanum. I may now as well bring my history to a close, to the time when, by accepting your boon of life, I became dead to the world.
My old companion died in the fourth year of our captivity. I would fain have had him deny the tale he told me of my father's destruction, but he would not; he was dying when I urged him to do so, and again declared in the most solemn manner that what he had related was true in every particular; and again he referred me to Ganesha, my mother's murderer, for confirmation of the whole.
He died, and I was left to solitude, to utter solitude, which was onlybroken by the daily visit of my jailor, who brought me food, and attended me during a short walk up and down the passage. This favour alone had I extorted after those years of misery, and it was grateful to me to stretch my cramped limbs, and again to feel the pure air of heaven breathe over my wasted features.
The seventh year had half passed; the Darogha of the jail was dead, or had been removed; another supplied his place, and some amelioration of my condition ensued. I was removed from the lonely cell into one near where I had been first confined; it was more spacious and airy, and people passed to and fro before it. I used to watch their motions with interest and this in some degree diverted my mind from brooding over the past.
In the twelfth year of my imprisonment the old king died, and his successor, the late monarch, ascended the musnud. Many a heart beat quickly and with renewed hope—hope, that had almost died within the hearts of those wretches who were immured within the walls—and of mine among the rest. We had heard that it was customary to release all who had been sentenced to perpetual imprisonment; and you can hardly imagine, Sahib, the intense anxiety with which I looked for the time when the mandate should be issued for our release, or when I should no longer dare to hope.
It came at last; after some days of weary expectation, the order reached the Darogha, and it was quickly conveyed to me. I was brought forth, the chains were knocked off my legs, and I was free. Five rupees were given to me, and a suit of coarse clothes in place of those which hung in rags about my person. After more than twelve weary years I issued from those prison walls, and was again thrown upon the world to seek my fortune.
"Beware, Meer Sahib," said the Darogha, as he presented me with the money, "beware of following your old profession; you are old, your blood no longer flows as it used, and what you have been you should forget. Go! follow some peaceful calling, and fortune may yet smile upon you."
I thanked him and departed. I roamed through the city till nightfall, and after satisfying my hunger at the shop of a bhutteara I begged from him shelter for the night. It was readily granted; and I lay down and enjoyed the first quiet and refreshing sleep I had known for years. I arose with the dawn and went forth,—whither I cared not,—all places in the wide world seemed alike to me. I knew no one, I could find no one who knew me in that large city, and I felt the desolation of my condition press heavily upon me. What to do, or whither to go, I knew not; but a faint hope that I might discover some of my old associates if I could reach Bundelkhund impelled me to travel thither. A change in my dress was soon effected. From a Kalundur Fakeer I purchased a high felt hat and a chequered garment for a small sum: and thus equipped, with a staff in my hand, I left the city by the north gate, and travelled onwards.
It was as I thought; I was never without a meal, though it might be of the coarsest food; and when I reached Jhalone, my little stock of money was nearly as large as when I had left Lukhnow. I went direct to the house of the Moola, for my thoughts were ever with my daughter, and my soul yearned to know her fate. Alas! I was disappointed. His house was inhabited by another, whom I knew not, and all he could tell me was that the old man had gone to Delhi he believed some years before, and that he had not heard any tidings of him since. I asked after his daughters, but the man knew nothing of them, except that one he had adopted had been married in Jhalone to a person who resided in a village of the country, but of his name or direction he was ignorant.
I turned away from the door,—I dared not pass my own, and I withdrew to an obscure part of the town where there was a small garden in which a Fakeer usually resided. Him I had known of old, he had eaten of my bread and received my alms, and now I was his equal. He will not recognize me, thought I, in this dress, and changed as I am no one knows me; I will seek him however, and if he is as he used to be I may learn some news of my old friends.
I found the Fakeer I sought; old I had left him, he was now aged and infirm; his garden, which he had always kept with scrupulous neatness, was overgrown with weeds and neglected, and he had barely strength remaining tocrawl about the town for the small supply of flour or grain which sufficed for his daily wants. I was much shocked to see him thus, and representing myself to be a wandering Kalundur desirous of remaining in Jhalone, I begged to be allowed to reside and share with him whatever I got. My offer was readily accepted, and there I took up my abode, in the hope that some wandering party of Thugs might pass Jhalone, to whom I could disclose myself.
Gradually I discovered myself to the old man. I led him to speak of old times and of persons by allusion to whom he must know I was a Thug. He did not hesitate to speak of them, and in particular of myself, whose fate he mourned with such true grief, that I could control myself no longer; and to his wondering ear I related the whole of my adventures, from the time I had been released by the Rajah to the period of my taking up my abode with him. And much had I to hear from him in return—much that distressed and grieved me. Many of my old companions were dead, others had been seized and executed, and hardly one of the old leaders of Bundelkhund were in the country or in the exercise of their vocation; new leaders had sprung up, and he spoke in warm terms of a young man named Feringhea, who when I had last seen him was a mere boy.
Four months passed thus. To support the old Fakeer as well as myself, I was obliged to perambulate the town daily: and I asked and received alms, given in the meanest portions, in the place where my hand had ever been open to the poor. A sad change in my fortune, Sahib! Yet I bore up against it with resignation, if not with fortitude, hoping for better days and new adventures.
New adventures, Ameer Ali! I exclaimed. Had not the punishments you had received turned your heart from Thuggee?
No Sahib! cried the Thug with fervour; why should they? Had not my heart become hardened by oppression and misery? They had aroused within me a spirit of revenge against the whole human race. I burned to throw off my wretched disguise, and again take to the road—it mattered not whether as a leader or a subordinate, so that I could once more be a Thug. Nor was I old; true, my beard had become grizzled and gray, and care had seamed my countenance with many wrinkles; but I was still strong and powerful, and my hands had not forgotten their cunning. Four months I have said had elapsed, and as no Thugs came near Jhalone, I set off with a few rupees I had saved from the produce of my daily alms for Tearee, where I hoped to meet the Brahmin astrologer who had so materially aided me in the affair of the pearl merchant. His share of that booty had been duly remitted to him immediately on my arrival at Jhalone; and though I had never heard from him afterwards, yet I felt assured that the letter could not have miscarried.
I reached Tearee after many days. I knew that bands of Thugs were abroad, for I saw their fire-places and marks at many villages and upon the roads; but I met with none, to my disappointment, and on my arrival I hastened at once to the temple, where I found the Brahmin; and, notwithstanding my misfortunes, I was kindly, nay warmly welcomed. The Brahmin still kept up his connection with Thugs, and I learned from him, to my joy, that a band, under a Jemadar named Ramdeen, about twenty in number, had passed through the town only the day before, and were on their road towards the Nerbudda.
"You can easily overtake them, Meer Sahib," he said; "and if your old fame as a leader fails in procuring you a welcome reception, a few lines from me may aid you." And he wrote a note to the Jemadar, informing him who I was, and how I had been connected with him of old. I did not long delay after I had received it, and again set off in search of my future companions. I came up with them on the second day, and warm indeed was the welcome I received; one and all were amazed to see me, whom they had long thought dead. I was clothed in decent raiment by them, admitted as one of their band, and treated as a brother. Truly their kindness was refreshing to my almost withered heart. Ramdeen insisted that I should take an equal rank with him in the band; and after the necessary ceremonies I resumed my roomal, and in a few days again ate the Goor of the Tupounee.
Sahib, you must by this time be weary of my adventures with travellers, and I met with none during my connection with Ramdeen's party worthy of relation.We avoided the Company's territories and kept to those of Sindia; penetrating as far as Boorhanpoor, and on our return visiting the shrine of Oonkar Manduttee, on the Nerbudda. From this latter place we were fortunate in enticing a party of pilgrims, and a large booty fell into our hands at the bottom of the Jam Ghat, whither we escorted them on their return to Oojein. Upwards of four hundred rupees was my share of this: so again you see me independent, and fortune smiling upon me. But Ramdeen became jealous of me, and of my superior skill and intelligence. We had many quarrels, and at last I left him, and determined, with what I had, to travel to the Dukhun, and to seek my fortune in the Nizam's country, where I knew that Thuggee still flourished unchecked.
But it was fated not to be so. My road from where I left Ramdeen lay through Saugor, and there I met with my old acquaintance Ganesha, at the head of a small band, apparently in wretched plight. I could but ill dissemble my feelings of abhorrence at meeting with him; my own misfortunes and history, and the tale of my companion in imprisonment, were fresh in my recollection; nevertheless I disguised the dislike I felt, though revenge still rankled in my heart, and I would gladly have seized any opportunity to satisfy it. Among his band was a Thug I had known in former days; he was weary of Ganesha, whose temper was not improved by age, and he advised me to put myself at the head of a few men he could point out to me, who would be faithful, and who he thought would prove the nucleus of a large band; for my name was still fresh in the memory of the older Thugs, who would gladly flock to me when they heard I was determined to set up for myself without connexion with others. And he was right; in a few months I was at the head of forty men; and we were fortunate. Taking a new direction, we passed through the territories of the Rewah Rajah, returning to our home, which we fixed in a village not far from Hindia, in a wild and unfrequented tract, where we were secure from treachery and from the operations against the Thugs then being carried on from Saugor.
Two years passed in this manner, and I was content, for I was, as I wished to be, powerful and actively employed. Two seasons we went out and returned laden with plunder, and the name of Ameer Ali was again known and feared. Another season and it shall be my last, said I; I had discovered some clue to my daughter, and thought (vain idea!) if I could only collect a few thousand rupees, that I could dare to seek her, to live near her, and to abandon Thuggee for ever. Why was I thus infatuated? what else could it have been but that inexorable fate forbade it? The destiny which had been marked out for me by Alla I was to fulfil, and I blindly strove against it. The vain purposes of man urge him to pursue some phantom of his imagination, which is never overtaken, but which leads him on often by smooth paths and buoyed up by hope, till he is suddenly precipitated into destruction.
I had planned an expedition on a larger scale than ever, towards Calcutta, and we had sworn to Bhowanee to pay our devotions at her shrines of Bindachul and Calcutta; the omens were favourable, and we left our home in joy and high excitement. And what cared I then, though I knew that the English had set a price of five hundred rupees upon me? It was a proof that I was dreaded and feared, and I rejoiced that Ameer Ali, the oppressed and despised for a time, had again emerged from his obscurity, and I braved the danger which threatened me. I was a fool for this, yet it was my destiny that impelled me: and of what avail would have been precautions, even had I taken any? I knew that treachery could not reach me where I was, and I trusted to my apparently lasting new run of good fortune, and to the omens with which our expedition had begun, to escape apprehension in the districts of the Company's territories, where operations against Thugs were being carried on with much success.
Saugor lay directly in the route which we proposed taking, and it was here that the greatest danger was to be apprehended. I might have avoided it perhaps, but I trusted to the celerity and secrecy of my movements for a few days until we should pass it; and as my band were unanimous in refusing to change the route after it had been determined on and sanctioned by favourable omens, I undertook to lead them at all hazards. We travelled bynight, therefore, and avoided all large villages, resting either in waste spots or near miserable hamlets. Nor did we seek for bunij,—the danger was too imminent for any time to be lost; and though one or two persons died by our hands, yet this was rather to enable us to eat the Goor of the Tupounee, and to perform such ceremonies as were absolutely necessary for the propitiation of our patroness, and our consequent success.