CHAPTER V.
When Mujahid had recovered from his wounds he renewed his addresses to the sister of Musaood, who, finding that she could no longer delay the gratification of the prince’s desires without a direct breach of promise, determined to bring the thing to an immediate issue. She had for some time encouraged his proposals of dishonourable love; she had done this for a sinister purpose, and was still loth to give up the hope of seeing the slayer of her father meet with that retribution in this world which she thought he deserved. She cared not how her own reputation was endangered so long as she could see the man punished by whom she had been deprived of a parent she tenderly loved. She did not forget, too, that his hand was stained with the blood of her lover, and although this was done in self-defence, it nevertheless did not abate in her judgment the odiousness of the deed.
Toghluk Beg had been long attached to her, and it was this attachment which urged him to risk his life against the valour and personal strength of a man notorious through his father’s kingdomfor the invincible force of his arm. The daughter of Moobarik could not forgive the double injury which she had received at the hands of the king’s son, and in order the more securely to effect the purpose so long entertained by herself and her brother she finally came to the resolution of admitting Mujahid to the enjoyment which he sought, indifferent to consequences, save the accomplishment of her revenge.
When next she saw her brother, “Musaood,” she said, “the enemy seems to have a charmed life; no sword can reach him, and he is even proof against the claws of the lion.”
“My sister, his time will come yet.”
“So you have said for years, and yet he is abroad in his might, and the world appears to fall prostrate before him. How is this colossus to be upheaved?”
“By constant dripping water will wear down the mountain to a level with the valley.”
“But we cannot wait so slow a process, brother. Can you suggest no means of a speedier vengeance?”
“He loves you, my sister.”
“Well, that won’t kill him.”
“No; but you return his love with hatred, and that may.”
“Hatred is of itself passive.”
“Still it may instigate the hand to urge the dagger home.”
“Then I must yield to his passions, an act against which my soul recoils.”
“His death were worth any sacrifice. Had I a thousand reputations I would relinquish them all to see him dead before me.”
“You sanction, then, my infamy?”
“It will be neutralised by the event. If it bring retribution upon the head of our father’s destroyer it will be a filial oblation, and do you everlasting honour.”
“The sacrifice shall be made, and may the desired issue be speedy! It is, however, a hard thing to dissemble in the presence of an object whom the heart loathes; how shall I endure the caresses of such a man?”
“As sick men take bitters, for the cure they bring. It will healthy hatred, sister, by removing the cause of it, and will not that be your sufficient reward?”
“It is like making one pass to paradise through a path of fire.”
“Remember that when the paradise is gained you have all joy and no more suffering.”
“What part do you intend to play in this sanguinary drama?”
“Do you but make the opportunity, and I am ready to drive the dagger home to his heart. I must, however, do it where even the winds cannot murmur an alarm.”
“Agreed; I will sacrifice my fair fame to the retribution we owe to a fathers spirit.”
Thus was the foul conspiracy against the prince’s life hatched by the brother and sister. They brought over to their purposes two disaffected nobles, who entertained an inveterate animosity against Mujahid because he had punished their cowardice with disgrace during his expedition against Krishin Ray.
The prince, unsuspicious of treachery, visited the siren who had won his affections with a full conviction that his passion was returned with equal warmth. He provided for her a splendid mansion and a numerous retinue, devoting most of his time to the society of his enchantress. She feigned affection so artfully that he imagined himself the idol of her heart; but Mahmood, who suspected her sincerity, though he had no suspicion of her treachery, frequently told him that he was deceived. This rather begot a coldness in the prince towards his faithful armour-bearer; the latter, however, did not abate an atom of his attachment towards his master, whom he looked upon as the dupe of an artful woman, and whose interests he watched with a vigilance which fully showed that they were no less dear to him than his own.
“Fair one!” said Mujahid one day, “am I deceived in thinking that you love me?”
“Why this question?”
“Nay, that is no answer.”
“But surely I am justified in seeking to know why my affectionis suspected. Tell me candidly, have I ever given you just cause to suspect it?”
“No.”
“Then you wrong me by your suspicions. Some enemy has attempted to poison your mind, and it is but fitting I should know who that enemy is.”
“You can have no enemy, my sweet flower, except the blights; and they will not pass over thee yet.”
“Sooner than you may dream of, if I am to be doubted by one for whom I have sacrificed so much. Remember that the flower is prostrated by the sun when his scorching rays fall on it, as well as by the tempest; so love may be as completely subverted by suspicion as by the fiercest hatred: it cannot exist but in an atmosphere of mutual confidence.”
Convinced by her specious manner that he was beloved, whatever suspicions might have previously existed soon passed from his mind.
About this time his father dying, he succeeded to the sovereignty of the Deccan. His accession was solemnized with great rejoicings; but the secret conspiracy against his life was not quelled, only retarded, by this event. He lavished immense sums of money upon the favourite who was secretly plotting his destruction, nor would he listen to a suspicion breathed against the fervency of her attachment, of which the faithful armour-bearer still ventured occasionally to express his doubts.
Musaood’s duplicity was now redoubled. His apparent zeal for the interests of the king blinded all but Mahmood, whose distrust became excited in proportion as the apparent earnestness of the other for his master’s welfare was displayed. It happened that he one day overheard part of a conversation which passed between the brother and sister, that confirmed his suspicions of intended mischief; and he resolved to acquaint the king, in defiance of the royal interdiction not to introduce the subject again in his presence.
Appearing one morning before the sovereign, he said, “A good subject must not fear to incur the displeasure of a kind master, where danger is likely to accrue to the one, which the other, by a timely warning, may avert.”
“What means this, Mahmood? Annoy me not with any of your silly suspicions; you know I have forbidden you to speak of them in my presence.”
“I know it; but my love for a good king and generous master will not allow me to be silent when I have reason to apprehend that danger is near him.”
“What grounds have you for so supposing?”
“Musaood and his sister are frequently closeted, and I overheard the former say to the latter, but a few days ago, ‘Our revenge has been long baffled, but the consummation draws near.’”
“Why should you apply this to me, when I have secured the affection of the one and the fidelity of the other?”
“Professedly you have, but kings are not always the best skilled in reading human hearts; they too frequently mistake the mask for the countenance.”
The king smiled. “Mahmood,” said he, “how long have you been a decipherer of the unwritten records of human character? Do you not think that you may chance to be mistaken as well as other men?”
“Beyond question: but no one can deny the policy of being upon one’s guard, even in a state of the greatest apparent security. The profoundest calms are frequently the precursors of violent tempests; and what is seen in the natural may likewise occur in the moral world.”
“But would you have me live in a state of perpetual suspicion, with that void in my heart arising from the absence of confidence, which is one of the most grievous penalties of our existence?”
“No; but I would not have you too rashly trust, and, indeed, never until you have well weighed the characters whom you admit to your friendship.”
“And have I not done so? Have you not won my confidence? and have I ever found reason to regret having bestowed it upon you?”
Mahmood was rather staggered; he felt the truth of the observation; but still determined not to allow the king to remain blind to his insecurity, without striving to put him upon his guard, he said, “Men must be judged by their actions.”
“Precisely so; and Musaood has never given me cause to suspect his fidelity.”
“What has he ever done to render him an object of trust?”
“Nothing, at all events, that should render him an object of suspicion.”
“My sovereign, I do not suspect upon slight grounds; I have seen frequent and secret meetings; I have heard ambiguous words uttered, and am willing to risk my head upon the truth of what I assert, that your royal safety is not secure from secret machinations. Having put my royal master upon his guard, my duty is performed.”
Mujahid Shah, though he had the strongest reliance on the integrity of his armour-bearer, and a sincere esteem for him, yet looked upon his suspicions as chimerical, and took no measures to counteract any plots that might at that moment be ripening against his life. His passion for the sister of Musaood was unabated, and he treated her with distinguished regard.
He one day declared to her his intention of passing the night in the house she occupied, at which she expressed herself extremely flattered, and immediately communicated the information to Musaood.
“My brother,” said she, “the king sleeps here to-night, and the opportunity so long sought after may be now embraced.”
“What do you propose?”
“That Mujahid should die this night by your dagger.”
“If you will show me that his death can be safely accomplished, I am ready to become the instrument.”
“Go and seek your two confederates, and introduce them into the house; I will let you into the king’s chamber at midnight;—the work is then easy.”
“But does not his armour-bearer always sleep in an adjoining apartment?”
“Yes: he, however, will be easily disposed of. I will prepare his evening meal: he shall be deaf to the cries of his master when they come.”
“Could you not contrive to remove his arms?”
“What will signify arms to a man who has not the power of using them? Do you quail, Musaood? Don’t be shamed by a woman! Such an opportunity does not occur every day. Embrace it, or let it pass, as you please: upon your choice depends whether we ever again meet as brother and sister. You need not be told that kindred foes are the most deadly.”
This peremptory insinuation immediately decided Musaood. It was arranged that he should repair to the house, with his two confederates, so soon as night closed in.
In the evening Mahmood’s curry had been prepared for him; but labouring under an excited state of mind, and having a presentiment of evil which he could not repress, he did not taste it. Flinging himself upon his couch, he lay feverish and restless.
About two hours after he had retired to rest, hearing a noise in the adjoining room, he rose and listened. He could distinguish voices in a whisper, but not a word reached his ear. There was sufficient light to discern the dim outlines of three persons at the entrance to the royal chamber. He was not kept long in suspense, for after the lapse of a few moments a female figure opened the door, and the three men entered. Mahmood, drawing his sword, instantly followed. Upon reaching the door of his master’s room, he saw Musaood and his two companions armed with daggers. The king was lying asleep upon his couch, and the treacherous confederate of the assassins standing, with a lamp in her hand, near his head.
Without an instant’s pause Mahmood cried, in a loud voice, “Rise, Mujahid Shah! you are beset by murderers!” at the same time cutting down one of the assassins. The sovereign, awakened by the noise, started from his bed, just as Musaood was about to plunge a dagger into his body. The blow had already descended, but Mujahid caught it upon his arm, receiving a severe wound. He instantly laid hold of the assassin by the wrist, wrenched the dagger from his feeble grasp, and buried it in his heart.
The third confederate, seeing the fate of his two companions, rushed from the chamber. Mahmood, seized his lasso, which wasat hand, pursued the criminal, and casting the cord round his legs as he quitted the house, tripped him up, and brought him to the ground. He was immediately secured, and conducted before the king.
“At whose instigation did you attempt the life of your sovereign?”
“My own!” answered the noble firmly.
“What was your object?”
“To get rid of a tyrant!”
“Was that woman your accomplice?” asked Mujahid Shah, pointing to the siren who had placed his life in jeopardy.
“No; she is innocent.”
The wretched woman, who had stood pale and abashed before the royal presence, immediately recovered her composure, and affected to repel the suspicion with indignation.
The accomplice of her brother did not betray her. He would reveal nothing, but made up his mind to die with that sullen resolution so frequently witnessed at public executions. The king, summoning two attendants, ordered them to take the traitor into an adjoining apartment and strangle him. This was accordingly done, and his body thrown from the window. By the time Mujahid Shah quitted the house in the morning, nothing but a skeleton was seen upon the spot where the strangled corpse had been cast the preceding night.
The sovereign having so narrowly escaped, was reminded by the faithful Mahmood of the policy of withdrawing himself from the woman who had obtained so entire an ascendancy over his heart; but such was his infatuation that he could not believe her guilty. She had been pronounced innocent by the confederate of her brother; and so complete was her empire over him, that he would not allow himself to suppose her implicated in the conspiracy against him. She affected to curse her brother’s memory, not only for the murderous act of lifting his arm against his sovereign’s life, but likewise for involving her in the suspicion of having been an accomplice in so wicked a design.
“Make your mind easy,” said the king, in reply to her asseverationsof innocence; “my confidence in your affection is not to be shaken. A woman does not hate out of mere wantonness the man to whom she has relinquished all that is most prized by her sex. Great sacrifices are only made for those we love, and for me you have made the greatest.”
“I fear I have an enemy in your armour-bearer,” said the artful siren; “and cannot but feel apprehensive that he will eventually tear me from your heart; this fear is a perpetual sting in my bosom. I have never given him any cause of offence; and yet he continually pours the poison of prejudice into the king’s ear.”
Mujahid Shah was silent. He could not but feel the force of this observation, and it struck him that Mahmood’s prejudice was altogether unjustifiable. In spite of his late gallantry in defending his master’s life, the king was angered at the hostility which his armour-bearer evidently entertained against the object of the royal affections, and he treated him with unusual coldness, sometimes even with asperity.
Within a few months after the late attack upon the life of Mujahid Shah, Musaood’s sister had completely steeped his heart in the infatuation of dotage. He felt perfectly secure of her affection; and finding that all suspicion had subsided, she determined to perpetrate with her own hand the deed of blood which her late brother had failed to accomplish.
One night, when she retired to rest with the sovereign, concealing a dagger under the bedclothes, she awaited with tremulous impatience to see her victim lulled in slumber. His senses gradually faded into unconsciousness, and he slept heavily. She drew the weapon slowly from its concealment. Her hand trembled. She cautiously bared the king’s chest, and, compressing her lips, plunged into his heart the instrument of death. Mujahid started from his sleep; he saw the night-dress of his murderess stained with blood, and her hand still upon the dagger. Feeling his senses fast failing, he grasped her by the throat, held her a few moments in his death-grip, flung her with his last effort of expiring strength upon the floor, strangled, and fell dead beside her.