"Thanks, friend, for thy caution," said the Khan, smiling; "we shall know each other better by-and-by. But what is this scheme?"
"When I left you, Khan Sahib, the night of Jehándar Beg's execution," replied the chief, "I had knowledge that Tannajee Maloosray was in the city, and I knew where he was. My people watched every bazar and street during the day, and we had a strong party near the Goruk Imlee trees, thinking he might like to come and see an old friend for the last time; but he kept close, like a bear in his den, till night, and then stole away. My boy and some of my people wanted to catch him in his den; but I knew Tannajee could not be taken alive by mortal, and I wanted to see him sit like Jehándar Beg under the trees, and die like a man; so I took a body of my horse and rode after him towards Tooljapoor, where he was going. We occupied the pass at Hórtee. But he escaped us there, Khan; and hearing afterwards he had gone to Jutt, there appeared to be no use in following him, as he had twenty-five coss start of us. But I was a fool, my lord; and for once Tannajee outwitted me. He went on next day to Tooljapoor; how, I know not. He was seen there in the temple, and he left again that night, no one knows whither."
"To Tooljapoor in one day!" exclaimed the Khan, "no horse alive could do it."
"Ah, my lord, your high-fed beasts would not, but ours can; and Tannajee and his friend Netta Palkur have the best mares in the Dekhan. No matter; he escaped us."
"He was—he is—the very bone and sinew of this rebellion," said the Khan.
"True, as Sivaji Rajah is the spirit; but he left some of the bones behind him at Tooljapoor," returned the chief, with a grim smile; "and I can pick them up for you, my lord, if you will either help me or let me do it alone as best I can; only remember, if the town is plundered, you know the cause, and I am not responsible for the blame."
"That you had better avoid, friend," said the Khan, "you are badly spoken of already. But the bones, good fellow, the bones! who or what are they?"
"Ah! I had forgotten them," continued Pahar Singh. "Well, there is Moro Trimmul, Maloosray's agent and shadow; as wily, and more mischievous. He is still at Tooljapoor, pretending to give recitations,—and they are very good, my lord, in their way,—and to serve at the temple; but I am not sure that one of the Moorlees is not at the bottom of it, and when a man gets into women's hands, he is easily caught. Then there are all those who will assemble there. Have you remarked, my lord, that hardly one of the heads of the old Mahratta families have come to present their Nuzzurs to you?"
"I have remarked it," returned the Khan, "but supposed they were afraid of some demand for forage, or horses, or money, and therefore kept clear of me."
"Not at all," returned the chief, "they have all sworn to aid Sivaji, and Maloosray took an account of their quotas of horse and foot with him to the Rajah."
"Then they met Maloosray?"
"They did, my lord, the night he came to the temple, and here are their names. There are other people, you see, who have ears and eyes besides Maloosray; and only that your Näik at Tooljapoor is an owl, he had seen this conspiracy long ago, while I was too busy to watch it. Better, perhaps, he did not; we can do our work more securely. And now, do you wish to seize this gang of rebels or not? I advise you to do so, because they are strong, and, should there be any difficulties in the West, are capable of making a serious diversion, especially if Maloosray, or even this Brahmun,—who is more of a soldier than a priest,—get among them. These Nimbalkurs and Ghoreparays, my lord, quiet as they look, are heavily supported by the people; and if the Ramoosees rise with them, the country will be in a flame."
"And how dost thou know all this, Pahar Singh?" asked the Khan. "I must have some warranty that it is true."
"Some months ago, my lord," he replied, "this very Moro Trimmul and others canvassed me as to joining Sivaji's band, and offered me whatever terms I pleased to ask. I refused, for I was content as I was."
"That means," remarked the Khan dryly, "that thou wouldst have joined them if there had been anything to be got by it."
"My lord is still incredulous," returned the chief, "and perhaps I deserve doubt till I have given him further proof. But I feel the King's hand on my head still, and his pardon is more to me than promises, of Mahratta, or Moghul either."
"Good!" said the Khan; "it is well said, and I believe thee. But about these rebels; are they still there? and how many may there be of them?"
"They are there, my lord," replied the chief. "I was in the temple last night disguised as a Byragee, with my nephew and four others: we heard the recitations from the Ramayun, which, to Hindus, are very much what the Peer Sahib is saying now in the mosque yonder, and said yesterday at the Eedgah on the plain, when the whole force shouted 'Deen, deen!' and it sounded like thunder. Jey Rao Nimbalkur was there, and some of the Kallays——"
"How many?" said the Khan, impatiently interrupting him; "what care I for their teeth-breaking names?"
"Five hundred perhaps, including followers."
"And is this temple a strong place? Do we require guns?"
"Strong enough to defend if they knew you were coming," returned Pahar Singh, "but for the most part they will be unarmed, and looking at the show. We need only cavalry to surround the town, and no one can escape us. No guns, my lord; they could not be taken up the mountain at night, and ours must be a surprise, else the temple will be dark as midnight."
"Ya Alla! ya Kabiz!" (destroyer of enemies), muttered the Khan to himself, "a rare trap for these Kaffirs—let them die! Good," he continued; "it shall be done; but when? I should march to-morrow for Sholapoor."
"Do so, my lord, and halt at Tandoolwaree; 'tis half way. I will join you there with some of my people the day after to-morrow, and lead you by a pass in the hills which I know of at night, so that we can surround the place unobserved. Take some of your own men and Ibrahim Khan's Abyssinians; they know no fear, and are more certain than the braggart, plundering Dekhanies, who are afraid of the Mother who sits in the glen, though they are Mussulmans."
"What Mother, friend?"
"Only she in the temple; we Hindus call her the 'Mother'; and she, my lord, must not be touched."
"No, no; nor her people, I will see to that," said, the Khan.
"And the affair must be kept secret, Khan," he continued.
"It is known to thee and me, Pahar Singh, and to no one else; not even my son shall know of it till we march."
"Now let me depart," said the chief, "and the night after next I will come."
"God willing," replied the Khan, dismissing his strange visitor with a courteous salutation.
On her return home, Tara being still asleep, Radha could not conceal from Anunda the agitation which the scene with her brother had caused her. As she reached the inner apartments, she threw herself upon Anunda's neck, and the terror she felt at what she considered a narrow escape from death, found relief in a flood of tears. The particulars of that scene she dared not fully relate: but Anunda gathered enough from her to believe that Moro Trimmul had threatened, if not struck his sister, and that Tara's suspicions were but too deeply founded.
If Anunda had not felt assured of Tara's purity and devotion to the worship of the goddess, in its spiritual sense only, she would have prevented, at all hazards perhaps, her assumption of service as a devotee. It was, she knew, one of the trials to which the girl would be subject so long as her beauty remained, that her public avocation would expose her to the gaze of all classes of people—the most persistent and dangerous libertines, perhaps, being priests of her own sect. But the act of Tara's profession of service was so sudden, so unlooked for, and had been carried out so immediately, that there was no time to consider the consequences.
Now, too, it was impossible to recede. Once she had vowed herself to the dread goddess she dared not retract, nor could any attempt be made, as they believed, to withdraw her without danger. Many instances of such partial service and relinquishment of it, capricious or meditated, had come to her knowledge, which had been followed by sudden death, or, what was worse, loss of reason and raving madness.
Well, therefore, might the sister-wives tremble at the consequences of transgression, even by temporary withdrawal of Tara's service. It was the first thing that Radha counselled; but, under the instances of punishment which she enumerated, Anunda declared it to be impossible. She could not—dare not—expose Tara to such risk, nor herself be the means of it; and, indeed, she was assured that Tara would never agree. Gradually, however, Anunda's naturally cheerful and sanguine spirit took courage.
"We cannot prevent men's eyes wandering to that sweet face," she said to Radha, as she gently waved a fan over Tara, who still slept heavily, "no more than I can prevent them looking at me if they like, or thee, Radha; but we can protect her from insult and shame, and she is too pure to be approached or spoken to. No; he may look as he pleases, but he dare not speak to her: for thy sake, for the sake of his own honour and station as a priest, he dare not; and his looks she shall not fear—I will prevent them."
"Nevertheless," replied Radha, "let her not visit the temple for several days to come, or, if she goes, we will both accompany her. This will give her fresh assurance, and in a few days he will be gone."
Radha, however, knew her brother well—better than Anunda. She knew that, with any scheme against Tara in view, no matter what it might be, she was incapable of watching him so completely as to defeat his intentions; but she could at least be wary, and gain information of them, and a small purse of money with which Anunda supplied her, given to Chimna, gained her constant information of her brother's movements, such as she could not otherwise have obtained.
Moro Trimmul, however, to all appearance ceased to pursue Tara. For several days she did not visit the temple. She herself feared collision with him, and kept away. But gradually, a sense of neglect of her daily duty, the loss of the satisfaction which had resulted from it, and the dread of offending the terrible Being in whose exacting service she believed,—wrought on her mind so as to render inaction intolerable.
And no wonder now. Her own small household tasks, which had previously occupied her leisure hours, had been resigned to Radha; the temple service required her presence for the greater part of the morning and afternoon; and her studies, and some needful rest, absorbed the remainder of the day. Now that she remained idle at home, therefore, the time hung heavy on her hands, and she sighed for the occupation and excitement which had become habitual to her; while the yearning to serve "the Mother"—never to be absent from her—grew stronger and stronger day by day, with a fascination she could not resist. Day by day those weird, glowing, eerie eyes seemed to follow her about, seek her in her sleep, and by turns threaten or entreat her.
"Mother," she said at last, and after a few days had passed in restless idleness at home, "I feel that my life here is not what it was. The Mother's eyes follow me, and she sits at my heart day and night. Why dost thou not come to me, Tara? she says; fear not, but come; no one dare harm thee, and I would have thee near me. This she whispers daily when my time of service comes, and I am here andnot with her. O mother, I fear no longer; she gives me strength, and I will go. What can he do to me? The dread of him is gone from me."
"We will go with thee, daughter," replied Anunda, "and remain with thee daily. Before us, he dare neither look nor speak; and perhaps, too, thy suspicions were misplaced."
"Perhaps," she replied; "and why should he do me wrong? I should be sorry if I had thought ill of him without a cause."
So they went. The first day Moro Trimmul was not there. On the second they met him, and received his distant and courteous salutation. He did not even come to speak to his sister, and turned away directly. Gunga was present on both occasions; and on the first day Tara was surprised, and perhaps somewhat gratified, by the manner in which she and some of her sisterhood met her; offered her garlands of flowers, even put them into her hands, and tied them like bracelets round her arms, and into her hair.
"You have been ill, sister," said Gunga, deferentially and respectfully, "and we have done your work, and offered flowers for your recovery to the Mother. Ah," she continued, "because we are poor, and not as you are, Tara, do not look coldly upon us; have we not one common Mother, and are we not sisters in her? So think of us, and we will be your slaves and fellow-servants; for she has loved you more than us, and sent you pure among us. We know, too, you are already changed to us, for we have received the daily offerings as you have kindly directed."
Poor Tara, there was no guile in her loving heart which bred or fostered suspicion. What could she think but that those callous minds had relented towards her? and perhaps the very offerings, which she had thoughtlessly made over to the attendant priests, had been the original cause of all their apparent enmity. Day after day the Moorlees' respect seemed to increase; and while her work was rendered lighter, her repugnance to acknowledge them as co-servitors seemed to lessen. With all indeed, except Gunga, the respect was sincere, and the deference unfeigned; but with her, intercourse seemed only to fan the flame of revenge burning at her heart: and while she repressed it with difficulty in public, in private she yielded to it with all the unbridled rancour and jealousy of her nature.
Against Tara, therefore, these evil notions were now, for different reasons, in perpetual and active combination. It was no part of Moro Trimmul's plan to excite further suspicion. Brooding over fancied neglects and slights, as well as revenge for hopelessness of passion, had, as Gunga rightly guessed, mastered the softer feeling of admiration and love for the gentle object of them; and the desire of his life now was, to crush relentlessly and deface the purity which he could not appreciate. His sister, he believed, had kept his counsel,for she had made no further remonstrance; and the first occasion on which Tara came with her father only, and trusted herself to the companionship of the priestesses, was hailed by Gunga and the Brahmun as conducive to their success.
We can believe that the worthy Shastree himself was utterly unconscious of any element of disturbance in his quiet household. He was perfectly satisfied with his new wife, and was even growing to love her dearly. He was not demonstrative—very learned and studious men rarely are so, perhaps; but Radha studied his disposition and his wants, and, without interfering with Anunda's prerogatives, was supplying them unobtrusively and lovingly; and he felt what he could not fail to appreciate—the action of another tender hand about his daily life.
With Moro Trimmul he continued on the best of terms—nay, his love and admiration of the man was much increased. These recitations in the temple, the disputations on logic and law, the evident knowledge which Moro possessed of the more secret rites and mysteries of the Shasters and Tantras, increased the Shastree's respect. If Moro Trimmul would not come to the house as often as he wished, he was at least no stranger in the temple, and in the ceremonies now proceeding, he was of the greatest possible use. He now frequently spoke of his approaching departure, which only depended upon letters he should receive from his Prince; and it was an event which, on every account of private and public intercourse, Vyas Shastree was disposed to regret exceedingly.
The night of the Amáwas, or that which immediately precedes the new moon, is necessarily the darkest of every month, and for several days previous to it the sky had been overcast, as it frequently is at the season we write of, though without rain. The ceremonies in the temple would be protracted till, according to the astronomical calculations, the old moon had passed away and the new one begun, which was some time after midnight. The concourse in the town was perhaps greater than usual. Several of the Mahratta chiefs were still there, each with a complement of followers; and others who lived within a day's journey, were arriving one by one, to attend the last series of recitations which would be given until the next full moon. It was understood, also, that this was the last night on which Moro Trimmul would officiate; and his picturesque style of declamation was more attractive than the measured and monotonous manner of the elder Pundits.
By the afternoon, therefore, the main bazar of Tooljapoor had become a very lively scene. The number of people already in the town was increased hourly by the arrival of visitors from the populous villages round about, and even from Darasew, Thair, Baimlee, and others within a day's ride; and as evening drew in, the passes leading to the town from below, and the roads, too, from the level country above, still showed parties,—some on horses, some on ponies, on foot, or on oxen,—pressing forward to be in time for the opening ceremonies, which would commence as the lamps were lighted.
Sweetmeat-sellers—parched rice—and chenna friers, were driving a brisk trade in the bazars, and their booths were crowded with customers receiving their several quantities hot and hot, as they could be prepared. The night would be far advanced ere the whole of the ceremonies were concluded, and, once seated, no one could move. Many a careful dame, therefore, had tied up a bundle of sweet cakes before she left home and carried them on her arm;—others, with less foresight perhaps, were making provision for the night at the stalls we have mentioned:—while flower-sellers were threading garlands of jessamine and môtea blossoms, and, indeed, of many wild flowers, from fields and hedges, in lack of other materials. Sellers of Pân leaves, tobacco and betel-nut—incense-sticks and pastiles—and oil for the lights of the shrine—were all as busy as a throng of eager purchasers could make them.
Among this crowd, the Shastree, with Anunda, Radha, and Tara, were making their way to the temple before the assembly should render the courts impassable. With the Shastree, who was walking before the women, was Moro Trimmul, who had dined at his house, and who was now on his way with him to the recitation. Chimna, two days before, had reported to Radha that her brother was about to leave. He had, the man said, purchased a palankeen and hired a set of bearers for it, and others had been sent on the road to Sattara, so as to form relays for a night's journey: and, except himself, and one or two who were to be mounted, the other servants were to follow. Indeed, intimation of his intended departure had been made that day privately to the Shastree and to his sister by Moro himself.
He was afraid of staying, he said. Afzool Khan had arrived at Nuldroog; the force there was about to march to Sholapoor, and thence westward. If he preceded it, he could travel unnoticed, otherwise it would be impossible to move at all in its rear, or to pass it without making a considerable and inconvenient detour. As danger threatened the Maharaja, he must be present to share it; and he would return as soon as the storm, which was about to burst, had blown over.
It was no more than all had expected and some had hoped for. So long as her brother's presence was a source of no actual uneasinessto Radha, she was thankful to see him, although she feared a renewal of his threats to her as regarded Tara; but since her last interview with him, she had been possessed with a dread which beset her night and day, either that he would do something desperate, as regarded Tara, or that, in revenge for her not having assisted his licentious purpose, he would put his threat, as regarded herself,—whatever it might be,—in execution.
His proposed departure was, therefore, a positive relief, and, in making the communication to her, Moro Trimmul had carefully acted his part. He deplored the recent scene and his own violence. "Tara's love," he said, "was hopeless as it was criminal; and he thanked his sister for having saved his honour in regard to that misplaced affection. Girls who married could not always keep their relatives with them: better indeed it were so, and in her case particularly; for no doubt he had enemies, and were he denounced to Afzool Khan, he should have some difficulty in escaping."
Could any one have doubted all this, or suspected that any sinister motive lay below it? Impossible! It was the literal truth in most respects, and open to no breath of suspicion.
To Anunda, and especially to Tara, the event was one of positive rejoicing. The good matron had, as we have seen, no objection to Moro Trimmul until Tara's suspicion had been aroused; and, secure in the effect of her own precautions, she had become utterly indifferent whether he remained or not. But with Tara it was otherwise; his presence was the only check on her enjoyment of daily life. Were he gone for good, her services, her household love, would be freed from the incubus which had deadened her existence while he remained, and she would be saved from any apprehension for the future. On all these considerations, therefore, the female members of the Shastree's family descended to the temple that night, with joyful and thankful hearts.
We know, however, partly what Moro Trimmul had determined upon, and how he had proposed to execute it. So far as she was concerned, the girl Gunga had never faltered in her plan. The only stipulation she made with Moro Trimmul was, that she should accompany him,—an arrangement to which he was very unwilling to consent. On this point, however, he found her utterly unrelenting. When she saw his desire to be rid of her, she declared that she would not only retire from the affair altogether, but would denounce him to the Shastree and to every Brahmun in Tooljapoor. She defied his threats; and he knew, by previous experience, that no words could turn her from any purpose which she had in view, and without her co-operation the execution of the plan was quite impossible. What she proposed to do he knew not, she would not tell him; but he had provided a stout horse for her which, with his servants and the litter,were to wait in the ravine below the temple. He did not fear pursuit. The Shastree kept no horse. He could not obtain the services of any horsemen from the authorities at night. Who would care for the ravings of a Brahmun, whose daughter, a priestess of the temple, had eloped, as it would be considered, with her lover? True, Anunda might revenge herself on Radha,—but to that, the Shastree, for his own honour, would hardly consent.
So they descended the steps into the lower court of the temple together; and while Tara, her mother, and the Shastree entered the vestibule to make their salutation to the goddess, Moro Trimmul excused himself on pretence of bringing his books, and went round to the back of the shrine, where, near the wishing-stone,[12]he found Gunga and several of the priestesses sitting idly on the basement, basking, as it were, in the evening sun then setting. We have said it had been a gloomy day, even now the heavens were overcast: but towards the horizon the clouds were open, and a bright gleam of red light had broken through them and fell upon the temple and sides of the glen in striking brilliancy; while the rich dresses of the girls, and their heavy gold and silver ornaments, glistened and sparkled in the glowing colour.
Gunga had apparently been giving some description of her new gold anklets; for, as Moro Trimmul turned the corner, she had slid down from her seat, and was moving her feet as to produce a faint clashing sound.
"One need not even put on the bells with these," she cried to her friends, "listen how well they will sound to the music, and I shall dance to-night as the processions move round."
As she spoke, the girl swayed round several times, half circling one way, then another, tossing her arms in the air in time with the steps in which she was moving her feet. There was something in the lithe grace of her figure which struck Moro Trimmul as a new charm, and he stopped to watch it for a few moments ere he was noticed. Perhaps the thought she was not observed, perhaps the certainty that she should that night triumph over her rival, had excited Gunga more than usual; for she had thrown into her movements a spirit and beauty,—a majesty of motion,—as it might be called, which was inexpressibly attractive.
"If thou dance like that to-night," cried one of the girls, "thou wilt win back that lover of thine, Gunga. If he were mine I should not quarrel with him. Ah!" she screamed, "there he is: what if he has heard me!" and, sliding hastily from their seats, she, with the rest of her companions, fled round the corner of the building.
Gunga did not move, but covered her face with the end of her garment.
"If I had known——" she said.
"Thou wouldst not have danced so well," he returned, interrupting her. "By Krishna! girl, not even the Gopîs of Muttra danced more lovingly before him than thou didst then in those few turns. Dance like that to-night, and I shall not be able to resist thee."
"It would be a pity to turn thee from Tara now," she said, with scorn, "so I shall not dance at all. Art thou ready?"
"Yes; I have taken leave of them, and prepared everything," he replied. "Chimna will bring the horses and litter into the ravine, and wait near the steps for us. Thou hast the key?"
"Look," she cried, crossing to the door, which was only a few steps distant, and partly opening it, "it is already open, and the key is here in my bodice. We can lock it outside, and throw the key into the bushes. When I beckon to thee, come, for I will entice her here; but if thy heart then fail thee, Moro Pundit, beware——"
He had need in truth to do so; but there was no occasion for threats, they did but provoke him. "Enough," he said, "we must not be seen together here. I will not fail thee."
FOOTNOTE:[12]A large stone placed on the rear basement of the temple. Votaries are directed to place a hand on each side of it, and make a wish. If it turns to the right, the wish will be granted; if to the left, otherwise.
[12]A large stone placed on the rear basement of the temple. Votaries are directed to place a hand on each side of it, and make a wish. If it turns to the right, the wish will be granted; if to the left, otherwise.
[12]A large stone placed on the rear basement of the temple. Votaries are directed to place a hand on each side of it, and make a wish. If it turns to the right, the wish will be granted; if to the left, otherwise.
Just then, a company of well-equipped horsemen, in number about two hundred, rode into Afzool Khan's camp at Tandoolwaree; and the same gleam of sun, which had broken through the clouds and shone on the temple at Tooljapoor, and upon Gunga as she danced, caught the tips of their long spears,—and sparkled upon matchlock barrels, the bright bosses of their shields, and the steel morion of the leader.
There was no regularity of dress or equipment among the horsemen, but the fine condition and spirit of their horses, and the manner in which they moved, proved them to be accustomed to act together, as the look of the men gave assurance of their being well tried in war. In their front was a man on a piebald horse, over which were slung two large kettle-drums, which were occasionally beaten with a sonorous sound by the person who sat behind them: and two men, both round-shouldered, one of whom carried a small green standard, with a white figure of Hunoomán, the monkey god, sewn upon it, rode beside him, one on each side. Pahar Singh was true to his word; and, entering the camp at a time when his arrival would create no particular observation, proceeded to some vacant ground in a field on the west side of it, where, drawing up his men, he bid them dismount,and, without unsaddling their horses, tether them and await his coming.
"What is the uncle about to-night?" said our old friend, Lukshmun, to the kettle-drummer, as the halt was made, "and why do we stop here? He told us we were to go on to Sholapoor, to prepare forage for the Khan's army."
The man laughed. "Ah, brother!" he said, "dost thou not yet understand the uncle's ways? Now, to my perception, as he has come to the west of the camp, we shall have to go east. Home, perhaps, who knows?—the devil,—if this be one of his errands,—as it most likely is. Certain we have something to do out of the common way, else he would not have stayed apart all day nor picked the men and the mares; nor would he have brought you and Rama and the young master. Well, we shall soon see, for he has gone off to the Khan's tents, where a Durbar appears to be going on."
"Yes, he may be waiting for orders," returned the hunchback. "May the Mother give him luck of them;—better luck than we had in that wild ride after Maloosray, when neither mud, nor stones, nor rivers, stopped us; and when we drew breath at the Hórtee pass, you could have heard the mares breathing and snorting a coss off! That was not the way to catch Maloosray! Yes, he had done too much that day; and the blood had got up into his eyes and head," he continued, after a pause, and wagging his head wisely, "but he is cool now; what will he do?"
"Something," said his companion; "what do we care? Now, help me to get these kettles off the mare's back, Lukshmun, else I shall be whipped if he comes and finds them on. Ho, Rama, come and help, brother. What ails thee? art drunk?"
"May thy tongue rot," replied that worthy, dismounting from his mare; "who told thee I was drunk?"
"Well, then, art thou sober? if that please thee better," returned the man, laughing. "But what ails thee? thou hast not spoken a word since we set out."
"No matter, my eyes are blinded with blood," returned Rama sulkily. "What we are to do to-night will be evil. I saw an omen I did not like before we set out, and three hares have crossed us since. Is that good? I tell thee I cannot see in that direction," and he pointed to the west, "for the blood that is in my eyes."
"The sun is bright enough, Rama," said Lukshmun, laughing, "and the liquor was strong, brother. Thou wilt see better by-and-by, when the night falls."
"Peace, ill-born," cried Rama, aiming a blow at him with his spear-shaft; "only thou art my brother I had put it into thee."
"Ill or well born, we came of the same mother," retorted Lukshmun; "as for me, with this hunch on my back, by the gods, thousayest true. But go to sleep, my friend, and get the blood out of thine eyes; I like it not. He is generally right when he says this," continued Lukshmun to the kettle-drummer. "Yes, we shall have work to do, and some of us may have to sup with the gods to-night. I pray it may not be Rama, for his wife is a devil; and as for his children—cubs of a wolf are easier to manage."
Leaving these worthies to discuss the probabilities of the night, which was also the theme of conversation among the men, we may follow Pahar Singh and his nephew to the Durbar tent; where, seated at its entrance, were Afzool Khan, his son, the Peer, and other officers of the force, enjoying, as it were, the cool breeze of evening; while reports were heard and read, papers signed, and orders given. Carpets had been spread for some: others sat on the bare ground, or on their saddle-cloths, removed for the purpose. All seemed merry, and the Khan's face was beaming with pleasure. He was, in truth, enjoying his old life, and his spirits had risen with it, with the hope, not only that Pahar Singh would not fail him, but in the capture of the chief malcontents of those provinces, that he should strike a deep blow at the root of the widespread Mahratta confederacy.
Pahar Singh and his nephew dismounted, and, advancing, offered the hilts of their swords to the Khan and those near him in succession, and while receiving and replying to their welcome, took their seats among the rest. "Our time will come, Gopal," said the chief; "wait patiently, they will send for us after the evening prayer."
He was right. As the sun set, the assembly broke up. Performing their ablutions, as a priest sang the Azân, or invitation to prayer, they again collected, marshalled by the Peer, who took his seat in front, looking towards Mecca. All present, joined by hundreds of others from the camp, knelt on the ground in ranks, and obeying his movements, rose—bowed themselves—or kneeled, in unison—as the various changes of the Moslem liturgy required. When the service was over, all, wishing each other peace, with the blessing of God and the Prophet, separated for the night.
"Come into my tent," said the Khan to Pahar Singh, "thou art welcome. What of the work?"
"I am ready," he said; "I have two hundred of my best people with me."
"And I am not behind thee; my people are ready also, and wait thy pleasure," replied the Khan.
"Who is this, father?" cried Fazil, who now entered, having remained to speak with some friends. Fazil had not recognized the Fakeer of the King's Durbar, nor the Jogi of the temple; but there was a vague impression on his mind that he had seen the face under other circumstances.
"Pahar Singh, son; dost thou not know him?" he replied.
"A brave youth, the worthy son of a brave sire, may not object to receive the offering of an old soldier," said the chief, putting out his sword-hilt to Fazil, who touched it courteously; "and he shall have his share of the work if he may, Khan Sahib."
"What work? what is this?" whispered Fazil to his father, and taking him a step aside. "Do not trust him—he is one of them—all men say so. He is not true."
"He is as true as I am," replied the Khan. "I have already proved him, and thou wilt know all by-and-by. He has received the King's pardon, and confirmation of all his possessions. Do not doubt him, for he can render important service."
"Enough, father," said Fazil aloud; and, turning to Pahar Singh, "Where you go I will follow; but who will lead us?"
"I will lead one party, and my son here another. Come thou with me, Khan, and send thy son with mine," replied the chief promptly.
"Where are we to go?" asked Fazil.
"We cannot say till we are on the road," said the chief, smiling. "'Thieves,' they say, 'have longer ears than asses.' I have one of my trumpeters here; and when it is time to move, a shrill blast will be blown: till then, eat and make your preparations, as I will mine;" and saluting them, Pahar Singh and his son walked to their horses, and, mounting them, rode away.
"And do we go with them alone, father?" asked Fazil, following the chief with his eyes, and in a tone of apprehension.
"No," said the Khan, "the order I gave for the Paigah and the Abyssinian horse to march to-night to Sholapoor is for this service, and we shall lead them."
"Excellent," cried Fazil joyfully; "then I fear nothing; but who is this Pahar Singh? Surely I have seen him before."
"Certainly, in the Durbar at Nuldroog, when the deed of confirmation was given to him."
"I was not there, father: I heard of it."
"Ah, true! Well, then, dost thou remember the Kullunder Fakeer of the King's Durbar?"
"Protection of God!" cried Fazil; "ay, and the Jogi of the temple. Strange, I thought I had seen those eagle eyes somewhere. I had not forgotten them. Now, father, I will go with him; but tell him not that I was at the temple. He might resent the death of his follower, and recede from us."
"An excellent caution, son; no, he shall never know it."
"What are the Abyssinians getting ready for?" asked the Peer, who came up at that moment. "Some secret service at Sholapoor, as Ibrahim Khan tells me? There is no mutiny, no disaffection, Khan?"
"It is a secret service, my friend," replied Afzool Khan, smiling,"and Fazil and I are going with them; but there is no mutiny, or cause for any, and we do not go to Sholapoor."
"Where, then?" cried the Peer. "Let me come; nay, I will take no denial: whither thou goest I will follow."
"It were better not, Huzrut," replied the Khan; "it will be a rough ride, and perhaps some rough work at the end of it; nevertheless, as thou wilt. Come, sirs, we had need to eat first. Come, Bismilla!"
"A dark night, my lord," cried Pahar Singh, as the Khan and his son, accompanied by the Peer, rode up to a large fire which, kindled by dry thorns from the hedges, sent up a ruddy blaze high in the air as some loose fodder was thrown on it, displaying the tall form of the chief, as he stood there with his nephew and several others, "and ye are welcome; and here are the rest, too," he continued, as the foremost men of the body of cavalry crowded up, the strong light revealing the dark faces of the Abyssinians and the noble horses on which they were mounted. "Bismilla! as ye say, let us mount and depart."
"I have not kept you longer than I could help," said the Khan, "and the men are divided into bodies, as you directed, under their own leaders. With me are some of my people, and the noble Ibrahim Khan himself with his; and I will remain with you as you proposed. The rest of my men go with my son."
"When we get near the place, Khan," said Pahar Singh, "I will give directions. And now, beat the drum, Lukshmun, and do you and Rama look after the guides—you know the road; go on, and beat the drum occasionally to let us know where you are."
"I would it were daylight, father," said Fazil; "it will be no easy matter guiding all those men in the dark."
"Fear not, my lord," cried Pahar Singh, "we shall see better when we are away from those fires, which only blind us. The roads are dry, and your Beejapoor horses don't fear stones. In three hours or more we shall be near the place, then a rest, and some arrangements; and after that you can give your own orders, and we, your servants, can execute them. Come, sirs, we can strike into the road at the end of the field by the trees."
"Shall we have no torch on this unsainted errand?" said the Peer, rather peevishly.
"Huzrut," said Pahar Singh, "this is hardly work for a man of God, and the roads are rough. No; we must manage with whatlight the sky gives us, for we have to deal with wary people, and 'twere a pity to take the Khan so long a night ride and show him no sport. If you are afraid the road will be too rough, do not come: but ride with the force to-morrow."
"Afraid!" cried the Peer contemptuously. "I, a servant of God, afraid! Astagh-fur-oolla! If there is any work to do, thou shalt see whether a priest cannot strike as hard a blow as a layman. The Khan can bear me witness that wherever he goes I am ever beside him."
"Pardon me," cried the chief, laughing, "I will doubt no longer. I only fear that, in catching thieves, there may be less need for our swords than for contrivance to outwit them."
"And may not we know how, father," cried Fazil, riding to his father's side, as they reached the end of the field, "what this contrivance is, and where we go?"
"To Tooljapoor, my lord," replied Pahar Singh in a low voice, not so as to be heard by the Peer: "a nest of traitors is assembled there, and we need to take them out of it. Keep together, now, I pray ye, gentlemen: I must ride before all for a short distance, and will rejoin ye by-and-by."
"Tooljapoor!" exclaimed the Peer, when Pahar Singh had disappeared, "a nest of idols and thieves, indeed. The haunt of a devil in the shape of an old woman, whom they all worship. I know her, with her red eyes; and when I have seen the idolatrous Kaffirs bow down before her by thousands, I have longed for the sword of our lord the Prophet to be among them. 'Inshalla!' when——"
"Peace, Huzrut," said the Khan, in a soothing tone, interrupting him. "I have promised that the temple and the idol come to no harm, on condition of taking none who are there, and——"
"Well, well, Khan," returned the Peer impatiently. "I am not a Roostum, to slay all the unbelievers myself, or to overturn that abode of devils! Do as thou wilt, friend; do as thou wilt. I will not strike till thou dost—till I hear thy war-cry; after that—'Futteh-i-Nubbee' (Victory to the Prophet) say I!"
"Ameen!" said the Khan dryly, "but I trust there will be no need of it. Come, Fazil, let us turn into the road and keep it, before the main body comes up. Listen," continued the Khan, as they rode on by an open pathway among the fields of tall corn. "His plan is for the town to be surrounded above, and a ravine below to be blocked up. He would give thee the latter work, son, as the people will try to escape thence."
"By the Prophet, an excellent plan," said the priest,—"no better could be devised. A few horsemen across the mouth of the glen will catch all that come out of the temple like fish in a net. I know the place well. No one could get up the sides of that glen at night,—no, not one."
"I would rather go with thee, father," said the young man; "my place is with thee; surely any one could manage below, and if there be danger——"
"There will be no danger, son," he returned: "these people will be caught in their own trap, worshipping their horrible idol, and will be unarmed. I shall keep outside the gates, and watch for the fugitives. Pahar Singh knows the men he wants, and will take his own people and some of the Abyssinians inside. If needs be, we can meet in the temple, but there must be no question in regard to this arrangement, which even the Peer ratifies."
"Surely, my lord," said the priest, "it is the fittest in all respects; and Pahar Singh, considering that he is an infidel and robber, seems a man of some propriety of manner, and is doing our lord the King good service."
"Dost thou remember the cry, 'Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!' and the tall Kullunder who brought the Wuzeer's papers to the Durbar?" asked the Khan; "that was Pahar Singh."
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" exclaimed the priest. "Yes, I remember. 'Puna-i-Khóda!' (protection of God) was that he? Then the night before there was the same cry in the fort as I left the King; could that have been he also? I thought it might have been some drunken Kullunder, as they said it was."
"The night before Khan Mahomed was killed?" cried the Khan and Fazil in a breath.
"Yes; why do you ask?" returned the priest; "it was near morning."
"It was curious enough," said the Khan carelessly, "but those Kullunders are very early; they like to be on foot when the women are grinding at their mills, to get a handful of flour."
"Yes, it was about that time," said the priest unsuspiciously, and the conversation dropped.
It was almost impossible to reunite again; for the road, which was pretty broad and free from stones at first, shrunk to a narrow path, through corn-fields on each hand, and it was difficult for more than two to ride abreast with comfort; and sometimes, indeed, that even could not be managed. They passed several villages at irregular intervals, and proceeded without check or halt. Pahar Singh, for the most part, rode in front of his own troop; but returned occasionally to the Khan and his son, who, being between the advanced guard and the main body, were unimpeded by the crowding which elsewhere unavoidably existed.
Whether it was that their eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness, or that the gloom of the first part of the night had relaxed in some respect, it hardly signified; for, without betraying their presence at any distance, there was light enough to distinguishthe path; and to follow, without much inconvenience, the men who preceded them. These were, as we know, ignorant of their destination: and most believed it might be Puraindah, or somewhere on the western frontier, where disturbance had occurred.
Those in advance, however, halted at length; and the rushing sound of the trampling of the heavy body of horse, which had continued through the night like a dull hoarse roar behind, gradually grew fainter as the mass of men collected and stood still. The Khan and his son, with the Peer, were speculating as to whether that was to be the place of divergence, when Pahar Singh and his nephew rode up, and at once put an end to the doubt.
"We separate here," he said; "and this, Meah Sahib, is my son who will lead you; you will find him true and intelligent. Do not go to Sindphul," he added to Gopal Singh; "Lukshmun knows the high-road to Rutunjun by Uljapoor, and that will take you close under the pass between Sindphul and the town. Keep in the hollow near the river, and when you hear our shouts above, turn into the ravine, and get up as far as you can. We will give you time before we ourselves move into the temple."
A few words of farewell, as father and son dismounting, embraced each other; a commending of each other to God and the Prophet; and Fazil and his father separated.
The ground on which they had halted was level, and covered with thick corn-fields, which extended, almost unbroken on their left hand, to the south; but on their right, small watercourses and ravines rendered any passage between the road westward and the hills impossible. Where they stood, the hills were low, and a passage or gap in them to the right was pointed out by Pahar Singh as the direction of the main body: in front, they appeared to grow higher, and a bluff termination of one bay, which stood out a dark gloomy mass against the sky, was pointed out by Pahar Singh to the Khan as near the town, and a light which seemed at times to glow in the air about its brow, as the illumination of the town and the temple.
Ibrahim Khan, and several other officers of minor rank, had now joined the group, and in a few words Pahar Singh explained how they were to act. One body would turn to the right close to the town, and guard the roads towards Little Tooljapoor and Bóree; another party would spread to the left, on the plain which led to the top of the pass; the third, which would be commanded by Pahar Singh and Ibrahim Khan, would enter the town and seize the temple gate, where there could be no egress for any one except through it, or the postern below. Up the precipices of the glen, and over the high walls of the temple, escape was impossible.
"Come, sirs," said Pahar Singh, after a delay which, to the Khan, appeared intolerably long; "they are now near enough: follow me;"and, turning his horse up the pass, the men, taking the direction from those in advance, moved after them as fast as the stony nature of the ascent would allow.
It had been a rare night of enjoyment to the crowds assembled in the temple, and attracted by the unusual amount of entertainment, the town itself was nearly deserted by its Hindu inhabitants, who—men, women, and children of all ranks, classes, and ages—had betaken themselves to the lower court, which was as full as it could well be packed: the people sitting in rows, as we have described on a previous occasion, on the ground, or perched upon terraces, the roofs of houses, and upon that of the vestibule.
As the night wore on, and the assembly seemed in no humour to separate, Anunda, foreseeing the confusion which would arise when the ceremonies should conclude with the last procession, had proposed to Tara, as she joined them for a while in their accustomed seat on the roof of the vestibule, to retire before the crush began; but Tara herself was in the highest spirits: she had no fear of Moro Trimmul; he had not so much as saluted her or seemed to notice her. Gunga and the other priestesses had exhibited a flattering deference, assisted her to bring garlands, and danced before her, as the processions passed round the shrine, singling her out as their object of respect—almost of adoration.
Few who had noticed Tara that night—and who did not?—ever forgot the triumphant looks and gestures of the seemingly inspired girl as she moved lightly and gracefully before the priests; or the sweet, thrilling voice, which seemed to rise high above the rest in the solemn hymns and chants of the ceremony. She felt secure in the protection of her father, and even of the other girls, who had besought her to stay till all was concluded; and the last service, more solemn and more meritorious than the preceding, would be at the sacred hour of the moon's change.
"Do thou and Radha go," she said; "it will be well. I cannot leave anything unfinished, else the Mother will be angry, and I shall regret it. I will stay near the shrine, and return with my father."
Anunda did not object, and she and Radha, congratulating themselves upon having left early enough to escape inconvenience, gained the gate of the temple unobserved, and made their way through the deserted streets without interruption. There was no one in the house; all the women-servants were absent at the ceremony. The watchman who guarded the outer door of the house—one of the hereditary Ramoosees of the town—sat with two of his men in the porch, and, when the women came in, asked leave to go and see the last procession, which was readily granted; so they were left alone: but without apprehension.
From the terraced roof they looked out for some time, for the brilliant illumination lighted up the temple spires, and from the large oil-cressets a heavy smoke arose, which, floating above the temple and its glen, caught the glare below, and ascended high into the air; and so still was the town, that the measured cadence of the recitation could be heard, though not the words; while occasionally a burst of music or solemn hymn suddenly broke the silence, which was otherwise oppressive.
Radha heard her brother's voice when his turn came, and listening to it, wept silently. When should she see him again?—would absence cure the madness that now possessed him?
"Weep not, child," said Anunda, throwing her arm around her, and guessing her thoughts; "it is well he goes. When he departs, thou wilt trust us the more, and be dearer unto us."
Meanwhile the rites proceeded, and the recitations. Moro Trimmul was declaiming, with unusually excited gestures and eloquence, the impassioned passages which had been assigned to him, often interrupted by the cries of "Jey Kalee! Jey Toolja!" and the clapping of hands which proceeded from the people whenever a favourite sentiment or allusion to the glorious days of Hindu power occurred in the text. Before concluding his part, which was the last of the night's performance, he had withdrawn to the back of the temple, and beckoned to Gunga, and a brief colloquy passed between them.
There was no faltering in the purposes of either. Gunga had noticed the departure of Anunda and Radha with exultation which she could hardly conceal. She had gone to Tara after she resumed her position at the shrine, touched her feet, and thanked her for remaining. Other priestesses, too, had crowded round her, and, excited as they were, all united in determining that the last procession should be unusually remarkable.
"See," said Gunga, as she came to him, "all is ready. There is no one by the door inside; but try it, and ascertain who are outside. Be thou ready only, and trust to me for the rest. Nay, I will come with thee—look!"
The place was dark, for there was no illumination behind the temple, and by its mass a broad shadow was thrown on the recess in which the door was situated. The girl stepped into it, followed by the Brahmun, and opened the door slightly. A number of dark forms were sitting without on a small terrace, from whence descended a flight of steps into the ravine. One rose. "Wagya!" she said in a low voice.
"I am here, lady," he replied; "is it time?"
"Not yet. When the next procession passes round the corner yonder, come out to look at it; you will not be noticed. Have you the blanket?"
"It is here," he said, holding one up; "and they are all ready yonder," and he pointed to the trees, where there was a dull glow as of the embers of a small fire—"palankeen, horses and all."
"Be careful of her as you carry her out," she continued. "If she is hurt——"
The man laughed. "There is no fear," he said; "she will be carried daintily like a child, and cannot struggle in this."
"Good," she replied; "now be careful, and watch."
"Art thou satisfied?" she continued to Moro Trimmul, who had remained behind the door.
"Yes; thou art true, Gunga. I am true also, and here is the zone; put it on, and let it shame hers," he replied, taking the ornament from underneath his waist-cloth where he had concealed it.
"Ah!" she cried, taking it and clasping it round her waist, "thou art——"
"What is that?" he cried, interrupting her and catching her arm; "there is some disturbance without. What can it be? Listen!"
"I will look," she said; "stay thou here."
She turned the corner of the temple, but could proceed no farther. Every one had risen: and there was a wild, struggling, heaving mass of people before her, from among which piercing shrieks of women and children, mingled with hoarse cries of men, were rising fast in a dreadful clamour: while several shots, discharged in quick succession at the gate above, seemed to add to the general terror and confusion.
"They are fighting at the gate!" cried a man near her; and a cry of "the Toorks, the Toorks!" followed in agonizing tones from the women.
Gunga did not hesitate. She, perhaps, of all that crowd, was the most collected. Darting to Moro Trimmul she said hastily, "Do not move—I will bring her;" and so passed round to the back of the temple. As she did so, she met Tara and several other girls, some screaming, others silent from terror, but evidently making for the postern.
"My father! O Gunga, my father!" cried Tara piteously, "come with me, we will find him. Come; I have none but thee, Gunga, who dare seek him; come with me!"
"Yes," she said, "round this way; I saw him a moment ago. Come, we will get down the steps; I know the way up the mountain from below. Come!" cried Gunga with a shriek; and seeing that Tara hesitated, and that people were crowding through the vestibule into the dark portion of the court, and hiding themselves among the cloisters,—she caught her arm and dragged her forward.
Moro Trimmul saw the action, and, unnoticed in the confusion, seized Tara from behind and bore her to the postern. The girl's shrieks seemed to ring high above all others in that horrible tumult, but they were quickly stifled in the blanket thrown over her, while she was borne rapidly down the steps by those stationed there, to whom Moro Trimmul resigned her.
"Thou canst not return, Moro," said Gunga, who had closed and locked the door unobserved and flung away the key; "let us fly for our lives. Hark! they are fighting within, and may follow us."
"O for my sword to strike in once for those poor friends!" cried Moro Trimmul with a groan. "They have been seeking me, and the rest will suffer. What art thou but liar and murderess, O Toolja! that thou dost not protect thy votaries? must they perish in thy very presence?"
"Hush, and come fast," cried Gunga, dragging him down the steps. "Fool, wilt thou die with the rest? Away! mount and ride for thy life; I will bring her after thee."
The Khan and his companions, as they had arranged, separated into three bodies as they reached the town; and as they filed off to the right and left in succession, the Khan, with the Peer and others, rode into the gate, and secured it. They had met no one outside the town; inside were a few of the royal soldiery on duty, who, themselves surprised, could have made no opposition, even had the Khan been an enemy.
Down the centre street, which was also empty, except of stragglers coming from the temple, the horsemen poured, now pressing on fast from the rear; and a body of them, dismounting in the centre of the town, rushed forward down the bazar to secure the entrance to the temple. Then some people, who were advancing, saw danger, and hastened to warn those in charge to shut it, turning back with loud shouts, others coming on. A party of the Nimbalkur's men, who were in attendance with their chief's horses, and were around the entrance within, mounted the small bastions at the sides, while others shut the doors.
Those who reached them first were Pahar Singh and Ibrahim Khan, with some of the Abyssinians and other followers, mingled together, each striving to be foremost.
"Open the gate; we mean no harm," cried Pahar Singh in Mahratta; "we are on the King's service, and if you resist, your blood be on your own heads!"
"We will admit no one," cried a voice from the bastion. "Go! ye are robbers, and we will fire on ye."
"I say it again," returned the chief, "we are a thousand men, and I cannot save you if you hesitate. Open the gate!"
There was no reply, but several matchlocks were pointed from the parapet above, which was loopholed.
"Hast thou the axe, Rama?" asked the chief.
"It is here," said the man, drawing a heavy axe-head from his waist: and, coolly fitting a helve to it, lifted it above his head. "Shall I?"
"Strike!" cried Pahar Singh.
Several heavy blows fell on the gate, and a man called out from the bastion, "Desist, or we fire."
But Rama heeded no warning. Again two crashing blows, struck with his full force, had splintered some of the wood-work, and he had uplifted his arm for another, when one of the men at a lower loophole fired. Rama swayed to and fro for a moment, and, falling heavily to the ground, the blood gushed from his mouth in a torrent.
Pahar Singh did not speak, but he gnashed his teeth in fury. Rama, of all his inferior followers, was the one most devoted—and was brave to recklessness. The chief saw that the shot must have been deadly. He might have shared the same fate; but the men without, his own as well as the Abyssinians, returned the fire, and distracted the aim of those within.
"By——" and the oath was lost in the clamour—he cried, putting his sword between his teeth, seizing the axe, and striking at the door with his whole force, "ye shall die, sons of vile Mahratta mothers. Every one of ye shall howl in hell for that poor fellow."
Blow after blow followed; and as the panel near the lock broke under them, a number of the chief's men and the Abyssinians rushed against the door, which gave way under their combined weight and force, and entrance was effected.
On the noise of the first shouts reaching them, the Khan, the priest, and others, rushed down the street, and arrived at the scene of action. The firing was increasing, and several of the Khan's followers and Abyssinians had fallen. Some were already dead, others wounded; and, wedged as they had been in a mass, every shot had told on them, while those who defended the gate could not be seen. Its being forced, however, changed the feature of the contest; and the Khan, who, in the heat of the excitement, forgot his caution and warning to the men, now shouted his battle-cry; while the priest, struggling in with the rest, cried to the men—"Bismilla!—in the name of God and the Prophet—slay, slay—ye true believers! Heed not death—ye will be martyrs! Let not the Kaffirs live, who have killed the faithful. Send them to hell, to perish with their devil's idols. Kill! kill!"
With such cries, had men of Islam been hounded on by their priests before. Was he to be less? Here, in the very holiest of infidel temples, should the might of Islam be felt.
But, in truth, the men needed but little excitement; what wasthere before them was enough. Who did not remember that it was a Jéhâd, a war of the faith, which had been preached to them daily? Who did not remember that to slay infidels in war earned the blessing of the Prophet and paradise? So, with Pahar Singh leading them, his sword between his teeth, and striking down men right and left with every blow of his axe, the infuriated soldiery rushed in a body down the steps and into the large court below.
Who can describe the scene? Shrieking women and helpless men strove to fly before them, but in vain; and the bloody work of their enemies, as they pressed forward, hewing with their long sharp weapons at the unresisting masses, was quick and deadly. Pahar Singh saw Nimbalkur and several other chiefs standing resolutely before the entrance to the shrine, sword in hand, awaiting the onset. "Yield," he cried, "your lives will be spared; why shed blood? Jey Rao, be wise, down with your sword;"—and for an instant the parties stood opposite to each other glaring defiance. But bloodshed was not yet to be stayed. Some of the infuriated Abyssinians again dashed into the mass of the people with a shout of "Deen, Deen!" striking indiscriminately at all before them, and the Mahratta chiefs were swept into the temple. As they were followed, Vyas Shastree, who, remembering his old skill in weapons, and unable to control himself, had seized sword and shield and mixed with the rest,—struck at a huge negro who was foremost, and wounded him severely.
"Dog of a Kaffir," cried the man, grinding his teeth, "get thee to hell!" and had not his arm caught that of a fellow-soldier who was near, depriving the cut of its force, Vyas Shastree had spoken no more. As it was, the blow descended upon his bare head,—he fell senseless among the crowd of dead and dying,—and those who entered the temple, trampled over him as one of the slain.
Pahar Singh's object was to save the shrine if possible, but he felt himself helpless against the crowd of Moslems who, headed by the priest, now filled the vestibule, shouting their fanatic cry of "Deen, Deen!" Life was dear to him, dearer than the idol, for which, in truth, he had no particular veneration, though he had dread. "If thou canst not save thyself, Mother," he muttered, "I am not going to die for thee," and, stepping aside, the men of Islam pressed on.
The priest was among the foremost to enter the sanctum, where two old Brahmuns, cowering beside the altar, were instantly slain; and, seizing the necklaces of pearls and precious stones, he tore them away from the neck of the image, with one hand flinging them out among the people, while with the other he overthrew it, and, trampling it underfoot, spat upon the face in scorn and contempt.
If the men in the temple courts, impelled by religious fury, showed no mercy, and, hunting unresisting men and women into dark corners, slew them indiscriminately till the areas were filled withdead and dying, lying in heaps as they had fallen by the sword or had been trampled down; those who had remained outside were, in their turn, no more humane. Under the cry of "Deen, Deen!—for the faith, for the faith!" more cruelty was perpetrated in Tooljapoor than it has ever since forgotten; and daylight revealed a scene of plunder, rapine, and destruction, such as may be conceived—but hardly described.
Anunda and Radha were safe at home, as we have already related; when, after an indistinct murmur, for which she could not account, the shots at the temple gate were suddenly heard; and, looking from the terrace, they saw the confusion in the court commence. Both were brave, but the terror of Anunda for her husband and Tara, was fast paralysing her senses.
"I will die here," she said; "take the wealth and jewels and leave me. Escape as thou canst, Radha; hide thyself, Moro will come and seek thee."
But Radha would not leave her; and, descending to the lower apartments, they sat cowering in their chamber, shivering at every sound, and, having extinguished the light, remained in utter darkness.
"Lady, lady!" cried a man's voice in the outer verandah; "where art thou?"
"It is Jánoo Näik, the Ramoosee," said Anunda in a whisper. "God reward him for coming; he is true; Radha, let us go with him."
"Lady, lady! the house is not safe! come, come," continued the man earnestly; "leave all—my people will guard it—only come. Your honour is more than wealth, and you can only save it by flight."
The terror of violence brought them forth. "Follow me," he said; "here are twenty men to guard the house—no one will molest them."
The women followed silently, sobbing as they went. The Ramoosee led them northwards out of the town to the edge of the great ravine, and descended a steep path, which they knew led to a spring in one of the broad steps or ledges of the mountain, near which was a recess in the rock familiar to both. "Stay here," he said; "no one can see you. I must return: here, I should only betray you."
"At least, take away our ornaments," said Anunda; "we dare not keep them. Keep them thyself, or hide them somewhere;" and the women hastily took off all they wore, and laid them on the ground before him.
Jánoo sat down on his hams, and counted them deliberately. "There are thirteen pieces, large and small, gold and silver together. Yes, they are safe with me. Now, take my blanket, though it be a Mang's; sit in it till daylight. Ye can bathe afterwards and be clean. I will come early if I can, and take ye down the hills to Afsinga, or else send my son."
So saying, and without waiting for a reply, he left them, ascended the path rapidly, and disappeared over the ledge of the mountain; and the women remained, shivering with fright and cold, and listening in terror to the shots, which rose above the confused roar of screams and shouts proceeding from the town.
On the other side, in the ravine, the progress of the band who carried off Tara was but a short one. Struggling vainly with her captors, she found resistance hopeless. Borne in the arms of two men, others held her hands and feet; and over her one of the thick coarse blankets of the common people had been thrown, which prevented cry of any kind. Tara felt that the men were gentle with her, and in spite of her terror, she retained her senses completely. She was aware that she was taken down the steps, and hurried along rapidly at a run; then there was a pause, and she was thrown into—rather than placed in—a palankeen, the doors shut to violently, and kept closed. They were carrying her away. Who could it be but Moro Trimmul, that was to leave that night? Even now her father might hear her screams, and terror lent strength to her voice; but in vain—succour from him was indeed hopeless.
As may be supposed, nothing had prevented the progress of the party under Fazil and Gopal Singh; and the latter, a pleasant companion, had amused the young Khan with anecdotes of his uncle, and of their border life. He knew the ground perfectly, and they soon reached their destination; and while part of his men were drawn up between the rivulet and the pass, and some even ascended the pass itself, he conducted Fazil into the temple glen, which turned to the right out of the main ravine. At its mouth was some level ground, and the horsemen had just occupied it when the attack began above.
It would have been impossible for the bearers of Tara's litter to carry it over that rough path in the dark; and as she had been put into it, a torch was lighted, which was instantly seen by Fazil and Gopal Singh.
"Not a word from any one," cried the latter; "some one is escaping. They cannot get away from us. Now, Meah, be careful."
"Strike, if any one resists," said Fazil to the men about him; "but it is better to take them alive. Look, 'tis a litter—who can it be? Peace, all of you; be silent!"
The gloom of night and some bushes concealed them, and the advancing party saw and suspected nothing. Moro Trimmul was riding in front, Gunga following him. The palankeen was behind with the Ramoosees and servants around it on all sides. The baggage-ponies had already gone on before.
"Stop!" cried Fazil, as he laid hold of the Brahmun, and held his naked sword over him. "Who art thou?—nay, struggle or attempt to escape, and I will kill thee.—A Brahmun? Who art thou?"