CHAPTER IV.
“My father,” said Yhahil, one day, “I have a great desire to visit the Mogul capital.”
“Why, my child?”
“Because the Mahomedans have no more antipathy towards Pariahs than they have towards the castes; and among them our wealth would gain us respect, though our social degradation did not.”
“Well, I see no objection to the change. As you know, I once saved the Emperors life, and his liberality upon that occasion was the source of all my present wealth. For a while he was a wanderer in foreign countries; but he has since resumed his throne, and governs his subjects with equity. He might chance to remember and acknowledge the outcast, though princes have not the credit of awakening unwelcome recognitions. We will go: any change will be for the better, and at Delhi the facilities of traffic are great.—We will go.”
The wife, who was obedient to her husband in all things, made no objection, and the Pariah family were soon settled in the Mogul capital. In a populous city, where beauty is sought after and admiration easily won, the personal attractions of Yhahil could not long remain a secret. The beautiful Pariah was continually spoken of, and at length the reputation of her attractions reached beyond the immediate neighbourhood in which her parent had taken up his abode. She seldom quitted the house that there was not a buzz of admiration; and as it was not the custom of her tribe, as of women of caste, to appear seldom abroad, and then always with the face covered, she was seen every day, and the fame of her beauty spread rapidly over the city.
Passing one morning through the bazaar, which was greatly crowded, she was struck down by the pole of a palenkeen. The person within having been immediately made acquainted with the accident from the cries of the crowd, ordered his bearers to stop, and proceeded to the sufferer’s assistance. Commanding her to be put into his palenkeen, and having ascertained where she lived, she was carried home, he walking by her side.
The father, surprised at witnessing so unusual a cavalcade approaching his door, rushed out with instinctive apprehension of mischief. Upon seeing his daughter, he began to make heavy lamentations, until he heard her assurances that she had onlybeen stunned; and quitting the palankeen she speedily removed his alarm. The stranger was invited to partake of some refreshment, which invitation he did not decline. He was evidently a Mahomedan of rank; and the Pariah was flattered at seeing a man, to whom the multitude bowed in homage, seated at his board, from which all but outcasts had been hitherto excluded. The guest at length retired, after having signified that he should occasionally repeat his visit, which was anxiously pressed by the parents, and seconded by their daughter, not without that silent eloquence of the eyes, which speaks with a sweeter emphasis than the tongue can impart to words.
It was soon ascertained that the gallant Mahomedan was the son of Beiram Chan, prime minister of Humayoon. This adventure naturally led to an intimacy; and young Beiram could not behold the beauty of the Pariah’s daughter without feeling his heart moved. He was young and handsome, full of generous impulses, though too apt to be driven by those impulses beyond the strict line of prudence. He was an object of admiration among the chief ladies of the Emperor’s court, yet he had not fixed his affections, though they had several times wavered between two or three Mahomedan beauties. The lovely Yhahil at once decided him. He had seen nothing among his own countrywomen to approach her transcendant loveliness; his resolution therefore was soon fixed to give them all up, and cleave to the charming stranger. This, however, occurred to his sober reflections as likely to involve him in considerable perplexity. It would never do for the son of a Mogul noble to ally himself with the daughter of an outcast, except by those temporary ties which may be ruptured at will; and, even upon any terms, it would not, he knew, receive the approbation of his family. He did not for a moment imagine that Yhahil would refuse the sort of alliance which he meant to propose to her, feeling conscious that he was not indifferent to her, and knowing, as she must do, the impassable barrier to a conjugal union between them. Their eyes had exchanged those glances which are the precursors of a declaration on the one hand, and of acceptance on the other; still hehesitated to avow himself, being unwilling hastily to rouse the indignation of his parent.
Yhahil’s father and mother had observed the reciprocations of attachment which had been mutually manifested by their daughter and the Mogul minister’s son, and knowing the stern severity of virtue which governed all the actions of their beloved child they looked forward to her ratifying the conquest, which she had evidently made, by becoming the wife of a Mahomedan noble.
“My girl,” said her father, as he one day embraced her with anxious tenderness, “I still hope to see my home blessed through you. You have, I trust, won a good man’s love.”
“Of whom do you speak?” asked the daughter, with a fluttering heart.
“The minister’s son.”
“He has never avowed his passion.”
“But it needs not the tongue’s avowal to confirm the evidence of a silent yet more credible expression that he loves thee. You will hear him declare himself before the horns of the next young moon meet. Tell me, Yhahil, do you love him?”
“I do, father.”
“Would you wed him?”
“I never could love the man I would not wed, nor wed whom I could not love.”
“I am satisfied.”
The parents from this time looked anxiously for the Mahomedan’s declaration, but it came not, and they began to be impatient, though it was more than ever evident that he loved their child.
The minister’s son paid his visits daily at the Pariah’s house, and his attachment to the daughter increased with their acquaintance. He found that she possessed an understanding, though not highly cultivated, yet of a rare order. The degradation in which she had been held in being of no caste, had deprived her of the means of raising her mind to the elevation of which it was capable; she had nevertheless not neglected it. All the meanswithin her reach she had employed, and her natural quickness of perception had given her advantages possessed by few. She had not been allowed to attend the village school in consequence of the disgrace attached to her social station; but she had availed herself of the assistance of a learned Mussulman who dwelt at some short distance from her father’s abode, and he had given her an insight into the history and literature of her country, and what he could not teach, her own readiness of apprehension supplied.
At this period education was cultivated by the Hindoos in every village, by a national edict; knowledge was universally inculcated, and it was then as rare to find a poor villager who could not read as it is now to find one who can. In fact, the whole social system seems to have undergone a complete revolution. During those ages when Europe was enveloped in intellectual darkness that exposed her to the contempt of the very countries which are now drawing from the stores of her wisdom and science a harvest which bids fair to ripen into universal civilisation, Hindostan was distinguished by a race of philosophers, who, but for the conquest to which that country has been subjected, and the degrading dominion under which its vast population has so long groaned, would probably have raised it to an elevation in intellectual and social dignity, not inferior to ancient Greece at the brightest period of her glory. “Education has always, from the earliest period of their history, been an object of public care and public interest to the Hindoo government on the peninsula of India. Every well-regulated village under those governments had a public school and public schoolmaster. The system of instruction in them was that which, in consequence of its efficiency, simplicity, and cheapness, was a few years ago introduced from Madras into England, and from England into the rest of Europe. Every Hindoo parent looked upon the education of his child as a solemn duty which he owed to his god and to his country, and placed him under the schoolmaster of his village as soon as he had attained his fifth year. The ceremony of introducing him for the first time to the schoolmaster and his scholars was publicly recorded, and was attendedwith all the solemnity of a religious observance; a prayer being publicly offered up on the occasion to the figure of Genesa, the Hindoo God of Wisdom, which was at the head of every Hindoo school, imploring him to aid the child in his endeavours to learn and become wise.”[28]
Yhahil had imbibed, as deeply as the son of Beiram, the impressions of love.
“Yhahil,” said the Mahomedan one day, when they were seated in a veranda that overlooked a garden at the back of the house, “do you think you could be happy to quit your parents?”
“No; I see no circumstance that should render it necessary for me to quit them.”
“Surely you are not serious?”
“In truth I am. Why should I leave them under any temporal change that you can imagine?”
“Suppose you should be married?”
“They could still be with me.”
“But your husband might not like them.”
“Then he could not like me. They who love truly feel kindly towards those who are dear to the objects of their love. If not, their hearts are hollow.”
“But there are other unions which would render it impossible for your parents to live with you.”
“What may those unions be? I know of none.”
“Suppose you were living with the objection of your affection in an alliance of fervent attachment without being bound by the compulsory obligations of marriage.”
“I could never be in such a position, therefore your argument is of no weight.”
“Is there no man, Yhahil, with whom you would consent to pass your life, free from those civil restraints which so frequently chill the warm glow of hearts, and render wedlock a condition of dull monotonous dissatisfaction?”
“That may be, but with all its evils, these, when weighed againstthe good, are lightest in the balance, and I would rather be a Pariah’s wife than an Omrah’s harlot.”
“I thought you had determined never to wed a Pariah—your father has told me as much.”
“And he told you truly—it will therefore follow that I am determined never to become the harlot of an Omrah.”
“Yhahil,” said the minister’s son, “I need scarcely say that I love you; but you will hardly imagine with what fervour, and let me ask you to state candidly if that love is reciprocated?”
“Omrah, I am a girl unhackneyed in the ways of the world, and know little of the artifices of life. I am not aware, therefore, that any motive can exist why I should not readily confess to you that my heart has received a strong impression from your delicate attentions to me; but let me assure you at once, for I have a disquieting suspicion, that, the moment they cease to be delicate, my respect for you will likewise cease, and a woman’s love without her respect is a jewel in so bad a setting as only to disgrace the wearer.”
“Yhahil, you cannot imagine that I can fail to respect one who has so entirely engrossed my affections. I love you with an earnestness which death only can subdue; but you know there are certain social impediments——” he hesitated. The blood mantled to the beautiful Pariah’s brow.
“Proceed,” she said, “why do you hesitate? Let me hear what you propose: there should be no disguise after the mutual confessions which have passed between us.”
“I am sure, Yhahil, you cannot be unreasonable. Where there is a sincere interchange of attachment there should be no suspicion. I need not point out to one of your superior mind that the mere circumstance of your being a Pariah precludes the possibility of my making you my wife. If I did so I should be despised by my countrymen, and you would be an object of scorn among their wives and daughters. I would not for an empire expose you to the chance of such indignity. Nevertheless, there is no social bar to a union of hearts apart from those civil ties by which it is recognised by the world. We may still be united, wemay still be dear to each other, and reciprocate affections which no time shall subdue, no contingencies stifle. My proposal is, that you be mine in spite of the civil impediments which interpose between us and a conjugal alliance.”
Yhahil had listened in silence; every drop of blood had receded from her face, and left her lips as pale as ashes. They quivered with indignant emotion, but she answered with deliberate and solemn calmness,
“Omrah, you may be privileged by your rank to insult a Pariah, but your dignity as a man ought to have withheld you from insulting a woman. What has there been in my conduct, since our acquaintance, to lead you to imagine that I could violate the purity of my womanhood in favour of a man who evidently does not know how to appreciate a woman’s virtue? Though considered an outcast by my countrymen, I am, nevertheless, not destitute. I have a home in which there is no deficiency of comfort, and the means of this world’s enjoyments are abundantly within my reach. Why then should you imagine that I am prepared to sacrifice my honour to the base passions of a Mahomedan noble? I despise your love—I reject your alliance; from this moment we are strangers to each other.”
She waited not her lover’s reply, but retired from the veranda.
Her parents were surprised at observing the change which had passed over the beautiful countenance of their daughter. She appeared dejected: the bright smile had ceased to play upon her sunny face, and her cheek was pale. The minister’s son paid his usual visit, but Yhahil refused to see him. She disclosed to her father the cause of her coldness; he approved of her resolution, and the handsome Mahomedan was forbidden the house. He frequently attempted to obtain admission, but was always refused. He sent billets,—they were returned unopened. The force of his passion rose in proportion as it met with resistance, and he resolved to see the object who had excited within his bosom such intense emotion. He appealed to the father, but found him inexorable; the mother was a cipher, and refused to interfere. He became impetuous; this only provoked a more determined opposition. Yhahil wouldnot see him, and interdicted his messengers from being admitted to her presence.
The disappointed lover ceased not to encourage his passion, though it was no longer requited. He became more than ever anxious to possess the object of his attachment upon any terms, even at the hazard of incurring the general odium of his countrymen.
Yhahil used frequently to walk in the suburbs of the town, accompanied by a single female attendant. The restraints imposed generally upon Hindoo women had no influence upon her. She appeared abroad daily without reluctance. She had not seen the minister’s son since her rejection of him, though her wanderings were never restricted. The mortification occasioned by his proposal had bowed her proud spirit, and she was determined to treat him with repelling scorn, should he ever cross her path. For the present she was spared this exercise of her indignation.
One morning she went out as usual, but did not return at her accustomed hour. After a while her parents became uneasy. Evening drew on and neither their daughter nor her attendant appeared. Night advanced, and her place at the family meal was unoccupied. Their distress was excessive. The next day passed, and she did not return. A dark suspicion crossed the parents’ mind that she had fallen into the Mahomedan’s hands, and that he had forcibly removed her from her home.
“There is but one way of frustrating the evil designs of that man,” said the father to his sorrowing consort. “I will throw myself upon the Emperor’s justice, and beseech him to enforce the restoration of my child. He is a mild and merciful prince, whose clemency is only excelled by his justice. He will remember that I once saved his life, and force the son of his minister to restore my daughter.”
“Alas!” said the mother, “princes are apt to think too lightly of the moral delinquencies of their nobles to imagine there is much enormity in taking away the daughter of an outcast.”
“I have better hopes of the man who has been taught in the school of adversity the difficult lesson of virtue. Cast from his throne to wander for several years among strangers, he has personallyknown what it is to suffer privation. Since his restoration to sovereignty he has exercised the best virtues of a king. Why then should I distrust the equity of a man whom I have known by experience to be generous, and whom all acknowledge to be just.”
“But how will you obtain an audience?”
“I will cast myself at his feet at the next durbar, and implore the royal interference to obtain the restoration of my child. It is not much to ask from one who, though he has cancelled one bond of obligation, may still do a supernumerary kindness to the man who risked a valueless life to save that which has been a blessing to his people.”
The unhappy father determined to throw himself upon the kindness of the Mogul monarch on the very next day of audience, and, having come to this resolution, his hopes, of again beholding his daughter immediately began to revive.
FOOTNOTES:[27]A huge lizard, frequently upwards of three feet long.[28]Extract of a letter of Sir Alexander Johnston to Mr. C. Grant, upon the Hindoo national education.
[27]A huge lizard, frequently upwards of three feet long.
[27]A huge lizard, frequently upwards of three feet long.
[28]Extract of a letter of Sir Alexander Johnston to Mr. C. Grant, upon the Hindoo national education.
[28]Extract of a letter of Sir Alexander Johnston to Mr. C. Grant, upon the Hindoo national education.