"What is it?" cried both the Peer and the Secretary in a breath, seeing the King much excited.
"Afzool Khan and his son are imprisoned at the Kótwallee, and prevented from attending. They must be brought instantly."
"Imprisoned?" cried both together.
"Yes, friends," continued the King, "there is treachery in this, for Jehándar Beg and the Wuzeer are one, it is clear now, and we must act at once. Ismail Khan," continued he firmly, to an officer who stood behind him clothed in a shirt of mail, "go thou with two hundred of the royal guard, and some of the mirdhas, bring Jehándar Beg to the presence, and with him Afzool Khan and his son."
"I beg to petition," said the eunuch, "that some of Afzool Khan's Paigah are here, who came with their mistress; they might as well go, if I might send them."
"Of course," replied the King, "why not send the whole Paigah?"
"Excellent," said the Peer; "take what are here with thee, Ismail Khan, at once, and send for the rest. Raheem Khan will not fail thee."
"I am gone, my lord, and will take him with me; he is my son-in-law."
"Ah, I had forgotten. Go; fear not; bring them safely and quickly, friend, for we have much need of their presence."
"Ya Ulla Kureem!" said the Peer devoutly, looking up, "this is thy doing. O, dear old friend! thou art not gone from among us as we had feared. Bismilla, let us proceed! first with these letters of Sivaji's, then with the rest. Afzool Khan will be here by that time, and the people will rise to his call as a man. Inshalla! your poor servant, too, will do his best. Let silence be called again."
It was necessary: for the entrance of the eunuch, the delivery of the note, followed as they were by the withdrawal of Afzool Khan's men, and some of the royal guard, had excited no little curiosity in the assembly. Afzool Khan's absence had been regretted by some, rejoiced in by others, but noticed by all; and now that his men were sent away, the speculations that ensued were various as to the cause; and while some feared disclosures, others already rejoiced in the prospect of his possible disgrace.
"Khámôsh!" again was cried by the same voice, which rung clearly above the buzz of conversation, and was taken up as before—"Khámôsh—silence!"
"O nobles, and well-wishers of the State!" cried the Secretary, in a strong, manly voice, "it is not mere ceremony for which ye have been called together this day; and it is not that the present urgent matters might not be disposed of by the Shah—may his splendour increase;—but in affairs of such moment, he would have the advice and assistance of older men, and of those who, for years past, have given their faith and their blood freely for the kingdom, and for his family; and surely nothing need be done in private, when ye, O Moslems! can be witnesses before God and the Prophet.
"Lo, friends in the faith! he hath called ye together because of those grievous rumours of treachery which prevail: and because of intrigues which have sown distrust between man and man in this city. Of these, two have been revealed to him by means little short of a miracle, and yet so true, that a child may understand them. Hear, then, what my lord the King will say to ye—listen!"
A low murmur arose through the assembly as men spoke in short, eager whispers to each other. Who was to be accused? To whom did these introductory remarks refer in particular? Many a secret traitor then sitting there, trembled upon his seat. Were he denounced, he felt there would be no alternative between detection and almost instant death, and there were not a few who repeated to themselves the dying confession of faith. If it was to be, it was to be; there was no escape now.
The King spoke from his seat, and though his voice was of a gentler character than his Secretary's, its silvery ringing tones were even more distinctly heard.
"O friends and subjects!" he said, "many words are hardly needful when the understanding is to have clear scope for action, and I desire all to consider what will be now put before ye. As God hath appointed me His deputy on earth to govern this kingdom, so I am answerable to Him for it, and for you, my people. This I clearly admit. If it be glorious, are ye not so? If it be tranquil, are ye not safe? If it be humbled, are ye not humbled likewise? Is any one weary of our service, let him leave it, but for the rest, let us be united: let it not be said by our enemies that we could be seduced and divided, or that our foolish quarrels are worse than the petty jealousies of the women of a divided house. O noble Dekhanies, put enmity and treachery from among ye: is it come to this, that they exist? Listen."
The King paused, and seemed to be searching under his cushions, while the sounds of his last words, rising to the vaulted roof, trembled in a sweet faint murmur, and died away among its fretted recesses; and as yet the rapt silence of the assembly was unbroken.
"A man," he continued, holding up a mass of papers to the view of all—"one whom we had venerated as a father—into whose hands we were given by our father on his deathbed—has been false. False to me, that is nothing,—false to the kingdom and to you, that is more,—false to his oath to an orphan as I am, and to God, that is most of all. Here is his writing, here are his seals,—look at them. These letters to the Padshah Alumgeer began ere that bad man were a king, and have been continued within a month; and by them we read now, that him we speak of would have given away our kingdom, but would have reserved his share. And yet, O Khan Mahomed! if we wrong thee in this, we will do thee justice before God and this assembly."
"Justice, justice!" echoed a thousand voices: "put out the treason!" while many rose excitedly to their feet and were pulled down again by their neighbours.
"Wait," continued the King. "Let him be heard in his own behalf when he arrives; do not prejudge him. If these are untrue, there is no honour we possess or can confer, that shall not be his. If true, let the just Alla judge him before ye all."
"Ameen, ameen!" cried the Peer devoutly. "Ameen, ameen!" was echoed by the assembly, in a hoarse roar, which filled the hall. Again there was silence.
"The next is a more simple matter," continued the King, with increased confidence. "Ye all know of Sivaji Bhóslay. How often his father rebelled, and was punished, and again forgiven by our father. How often the son hath been guilty of crimes. All these would have been forgiven. As a wise father corrects, while he bears with and forgives the errors of a wilful son,—so should we have forgiven also; but for treachery. Look, friends, here, in the same packet with those we have just mentioned, are these letters from Sivaji to the Padshah. We who have fed this wolf, are his enemies; those who have hunted him, are his friends. Here are lists of forts which will be taken and held for the Moghuls, of districts to pay for armies, of men who will join with their local levies. Between them they will share the Dekhan, and Sivaji will be the imperial Vice-regent!
"Did ye hear, friends?" he continued, after a pause. "Do ye desire to serve under the infidel? I am young. I have no experience. I am a humble worm before God; but I am the son of one who led ye to victory. I am one who has been nursed in war, and will lead ye again! Choose, then, between them and the King of your ancient dynasty. If I have a place in your hearts, bid me stay; if not, a Durwaysh's robe and staff are mine, and at the blessed shrine of the Prophet I will abjure the world and die. I will trouble ye no more. No, no more—me, or mine."
For an instant the same sweet trembling murmur of the King's voice arose to the roof—but for an instant only. As if with one accord, a shout of "Deen! Deen! for the faith! for the faith! we will die for you!"—rang through the building, as men, no longer able to control their emotions, started to their feet and shouted the war-cry of Islam. Those who were without had observed the emotion in the hall, but had not been aware of its cause. Now, however, the familiar battle-shout fell on willing ears, and was returned, from the thousands gathered there, with an enthusiasm which knew no bounds. "Deen! Deen!" accompanied by the battle-cries of the various nobles and chiefs whose escorts were drawn up together.
Just then, and as the excitement from within and without had somewhat subsided, a strong body of horse, known to all as belonging to Afzool Khan, swept round the corner of the building with its standard unfurled, and its kettle-drums beating loudly. Among the serried mass of horsemen could be seen a palankeen closely muffled and jealously guarded, immediately behind which rode the brave old Khan and his son Fazil, with several of his officers. It was evident to all that the litter contained a person of consequence; and many from within the hall looked around anxiously, as Afzool Khan, his son, and several others with him, dismounted and placed themselves beside it. Could the Wuzeer have returned? If so, he was already a prisoner, and there was no hope. If not, whom could it be? The King had been about to address the assembly again, but he paused and turned to those behind him.
"Ah," he cried exultingly, "Alla hath heard our prayers, and here are our noble friends. I vow thank-offerings to thee, O Sofee Surmust![11]O Geesoo Duraz! by thy hands, Peer Sahib, as thou wilt!"
"I said the planets assured me that my lord should destroy his enemies to-day," said the Peer, wiping his eyes, for his love for Afzool Khan was great, and he had feared seduction. "Shookr oolla! Shookr oolla! Hazarha-Shookr! thousands of thanks do we offer at thy throne, O merciful! and here he comes, Soobhán Ulla! Soobhán Ulla!"
Afzool Khan was well known, and a hearty shout had greeted him as he dismounted, looked proudly about him, and returned the salutations of his friends and the soldiery. The palankeen was, by his orders, taken up the steps into the corridor; and, room being cleared for it by the sticks and maces of the chobdars, it was carried on, the Khan and his son accompanying it, through the entrance hall and into the centre of the assembly before the throne, where, in spite of the remonstrances of the chamberlains, it was set down. Then the Khan, disengaging his sword from his belt, and bidding Fazil do the same, they advanced to the foot of the musnud, and enveloping the hilts in their scarfs, presented them as "nuzzurs" or offerings to the King, making, at the same time, their customary obeisances.
"Pardon for this boldness, my prince," said the Khan, "but as the merciful Alla delivered us strangely out of his hands who is there, we thought we had better bring him to 'the presence' at once."
"Who?" asked the king excitedly. "The Wuzeer? Khan Mahomed?"
"No, my lord," returned the Khan, "but Jehándar Beg."
"God be praised thou art safe, Khan," returned the King, putting out his hand and resting it upon the Khan's head, "and thou also, Fazil. Now, we have no fear."
"Ah, old friend!" cried the Peer, the tears fairly running down his cheeks while he pointed to the King; "he hath been so brave, so brave: my boy—so eloquent. Stones would have cried out at his words. Didst thou not hear the shouting?"
"Surely," returned the Khan; "but 'tis hardly a welcome sound in these days unless one knows the reason, so we hurried on. Eloquent! I knew he would be so. Brave! Ay, or he is no descendant of his royal race. May I open the litter, my lord?" he asked of the King.
"Bismilla! open it," he replied; and some of the attendants hastily untied the knots by which the cover had been fastened over the top. As the last fold was removed, the figure of Jehándar Beg sitting upright, his arms and hands swathed carefully in a shawl, and his eyes bound with a handkerchief, was displayed to all. The bandage was removed, and he looked wildly about him.
Jehándar Beg saw his position at once. He was no coward, and he perceived that all chance of life had passed away. The Wuzeer was not there, and Afzool Khan, stooping into the litter, took up the case containing Jehándar Beg's most secret papers, and presented them to the King. "May I be loosed?" said the Kótwal to the Khan. "My fate is in the King's hands."
"Surely," replied the King; "we fear him not, nor any enemy," he continued, looking round. "May God deliver them into our hands, even as he hath this traitor."
"Ameen! Ameen!" cried a tumult of voices, followed by the loud Khámôsh of the criers.
Afzool Khan spoke so as to be heard by all. We need not follow his recital, for the particulars have been already related; but the words were drunk in with avidity by the assembly. He disclosed no man's name; the papers would speak for themselves.
One by one they were read, Persian and Mahratta in turn, clearly and distinctly; while, by the King's command, several of them were taken round by mutsuddees to the principal nobles and sirdars, that the seals might be examined.
This necessarily occupied some time, during which, the litter havingbeen removed to the door, Jehándar Beg stood in the centre, as yet boldly if not defiantly. Could the Wuzeer only arrive—and he was expected momentarily—all would be changed. Before him the King, bold as he seemed now, would quail; those friends in the assembly, who had already exchanged glances with him, would at once rise. There might be bloodshed, and of the result he had no doubt: it had been calculated beforehand, and was certain. Much depended on a mysterious arrangement of the Wuzeer's, which he suspected; but to the particulars of which he had not been admitted. Need he deny the papers? He dare not. They were facts which could neither be denied nor evaded.
"Unhappy, godless man," cried the King, when several had been read, and others were being examined, "are these true? Dost thou admit them? Hast thou eaten my salt and found it so bitter, that that of others seemed sweeter to thee? Speak, Jehándar Beg! are these true? are they thine own?"
Upon his reply hung many a life had he chosen to denounce those present; but with all his bad faith, there was no meanness in the man.
"The letters, my prince, are true; as they are addressed. I have no more to say. Whatever my fate is to be, let it come; I am ready to meet it," returned the Kótwal, firmly.
"And these for Khan Mahomed? The writing in the corner is yours, and the date of receipt is to-day."
"It is my writing; why should I tell a lie?" returned Jehándar Beg, sullenly; "but I know not the contents."
"Enough," replied the King; "my friends, we would do no injustice. Let us await the Wuzeer's arrival—it cannot be long now—and hear the result from his own lips."
FOOTNOTE:[11]A celebrated Mahomedan saint of the Dekhan, whose tomb is at Sugger.
[11]A celebrated Mahomedan saint of the Dekhan, whose tomb is at Sugger.
[11]A celebrated Mahomedan saint of the Dekhan, whose tomb is at Sugger.
"My lord, my prince," whispered the officer of the royal guard, stepping behind the rail in an agitated manner, "be careful of yourself; there is disturbance without; we will close round you; come away. The Wuzeer—the Wuzeer is—is—dead—killed, they say—at the outer gate as he entered. Withdraw with us—quick," said the man excitedly; "the news is spreading fast."
"Who hath done this?" cried the King, starting to his feet, and seizing his sword and shield, which, according to custom, lay before him. "The Wuzeer is dead, they say. Is there aught to fear? I move not, Afzool Khan, come what may. If I am to die, let it be here, on my father's judgment-seat. Will ye bear me company?"
"To death, to death!" exclaimed Afzool Khan. "Who dareharm you? Ho! Alla-ool-Moolks, Bhylmees, Dâgtorays, all true men present,—rally round the King," shouted the Khan. "Deen, deen!" and his familiar battle-cry, "Futteh-i-Nubbee!" (Victory to the Prophet) rang high above the hoarse murmur which had arisen among the assembly. Now, however, those mentioned by the Khan sprang to their feet by scores, and their example was followed by hundreds. "Deen, Deen!" was shouted with increased enthusiasm.
"Here is one who brings particulars," said the Secretary, as an officer was led in, who prostrated himself before the King.
"My lord, the Wuzeer is dead," said the man, sobbing bitterly. "They murdered him at the gate. Those who did it went off across the plain, but they were men who had ridden with him. I was upon the bastion over the gate with a few others, and we saw them come rapidly along the road from Allapoor. I knew my lord's piebald horse, and his elephant was following at a little distance. We watched him till he was near the gate; there were only a few of us. There was no one present but a sentinel and one or two others, and a Kullunder Fakeer had spread his carpet just within the walls, and was crying, 'Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!' as passengers threw their cowrees to him. We were descending the steps to present our nuzzurs, when several of the men behind dragged the Wuzeer from his horse, and others on foot, who had been running with him, killed him with a hundred wounds ere he could cry out. What could we do, my lord? Ere we could mount the bastion again the whole had dispersed. We fired on them, but it was no use."
"And what became of the Fakeer?" asked the King, looking towards the Secretary.
"My prince, he stayed with the body, and shut the eyes," replied the man. "Then, as the Wuzeer's elephant arrived, he told the driver to take up the dead, and we saw him go towards the mosque, crying, as before, 'Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!' Hark!" he continued, "there he is."
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga! Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" The cry came nearer and nearer, never changing or faltering in its cadence or time—heard above all other noises and confusion within and without—"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!"—up the steps, along the great corridor, into the hall, where every one made way before the brawny form and excited looks of the crier—who paused not, nor yet looked right or left, till he reached the dais. Afzool Khan and Fazil would have stopped him, but he strode on.
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" he cried, looking at the King without saluting him. "Khan Mahomed is dead, from a hundred wounds. As I closed his eyes I saw this on the ground; it had fallen from him, so I have brought it;" and flinging a case, containing papers, to the King, he turned away without salutation; shouting the old,cry with his right arm bare, and stretched high above his head, he strode out of the hall, continuing it as he passed out of the building through the attendants and troops, and so away.
"Among these papers," said the Secretary, whispering to the King, "are many which, if now disclosed, might make men desperate; they are better kept secret."
"I am weary of them all," cried the King impatiently; "look at the judgment of God; we should own it reverently."
"Zoolm! Zoolm!" (injustice!) cried a knot of men who had collected at one side of the hall, and had risen from their seats. "Is murder to be done, and pass unchallenged?" Their tone was fierce and defiant, and boded no good.
"Peace, O friends!" cried Afzool Khan, stretching out his hands to them. "Is this a time for strife? who can say by whose hands he died? Yet better dead, than for this guilt to be proved before all, by these witnesses—his own hand and seals. O friends, brothers in the faith! there is the throne we have to defend, and we should count it holy martyrdom to die before it. We are ready; will ye be tardy?"
"Deen, Deen! listen to Afzool Khan! Futteh-i-Nubbee!" (Victory to the Prophet) the Khan's battle-cry, was shouted with deafening clamour. "Death to the unbelievers!"
"Silence, friends!" cried the Peer, as there was a short cessation of the shouting; "listen to me. One traitor is dead, but are we less than men that we permit Sivaji Bhóslay, his accomplice, to defile our beards? Deen, Deen! cry to God for victory. Deen, Deen!" he continued, rising and raising his voice to a shrill scream, as he stretched out his arms, "the Prophet hears us, and Ali, and the holy martyrs, and so will ye be martyrs and enjoy paradise if ye die."
Again, again his cry was raised, the fanatical cry of Islam, which no Moslem can hear without emotion; and grave men hitherto unmoved, roused with the rest to frantic enthusiasm by the holy man's words, threw themselves on each other's necks and wept aloud.
"And now, friends," continued the King, when he could be heard, "let him who would punish Sivaji Bhóslay for a thousand crimes and treacheries, take up the gage I place here. In the name of God and the Prophet, let who will take it, I accept him;" and so saying he motioned to an attendant, who, bringing forward a salver covered with a brocaded cloth, set it down on the edge of the dais before the King, and uncovered it.
On the salver lay a single birra of Pân, covered with gold leaf, one of those which, on the conclusion of the ceremony, would be distributed by thousands. Who would take it up?
"Are ye laggards, my friends, in pursuit of honour? I thought yonder gage would be a mark for men to strive for; are ye laggards, O faithful?" cried the Peer.
The mass—for every one had risen to his feet—swayed to and fro with emotion, but no one advanced; and out of it issued the hoarse ominous murmur that had several times arisen, and which, in the absence of any decisive action, caused involuntary apprehension.
At this moment Afzool Khan stepped boldly forward, and taking up the gage, pressed it to his forehead, eyes, and lips, then, saluting the King, held it high above his head for all to see.
"My prince, it is mine," he said, "if it be permitted, and if these my friends will join me."
"Ye have heard," said the King, turning to the assembly, "I accept him."
It was the crowning point of the ceremony, and the people, no longer withheld by court etiquette, swayed forward to the foot of the dais with tumultuous shouts of joy. Those without only knew that war had been proclaimed, and their cries mingled hoarsely with the rest.
"It is well this should cease, my lord," said the Secretary. "Men's hearts are hot, and enough hath been done to-day."
"Good," replied the King, "let the criers proclaim the Burkhast; and that there will be preaching in the Jumma Mosque daily, at noon, till the army advances."
"Be that my care," said the Peer, "and their hearts shall be kept hot, I promise you."
It was done. Attendants went round with trays of Pân, reserving Utr and other sweet essences for those privileged to receive them. The King sat to the last, and the great Hall was gradually emptied, save of the royal guards,—Afzool Khan and his son,—Alla ool Moolk, and other nobles, who had been desired to remain. The Kótwal's fate was yet in suspense.
"Bring forward Jehándar Beg," cried the King to the officer of the guard; and the prisoner was again conducted to the front of the dais, around which the nobles were now grouped. He saw no hope in those stern, pitiless faces.
"See what that case of papers contains, Meerza Sahib," said the King; "there should be no mistake in this matter."
"There is no need," said the Kótwal, sullenly, to the King. "If you had died to-day, those who brought me here would ere now have been headless corpses. I will answer no more questions. Do with me as you will; except in prayer, my lips open no more."
"Take him away to death," said the King. "A kingdom that never punishes is too weak to exist."
Jehándar Beg was led away through the private cloisters. Hishead had fallen upon his bosom; but those who saw it never forgot the fire which seemed to flash from his large eyes, and the scowl of deadly hate which he cast upon all around him as he walked firmly on.
"We may now separate," said the King. "Forgive me, O friends, who have as yet known me only as a boy playing about your knees, if I have acted weakly in this first rough lesson of life. O noble Khan, there are those who await you with tears of joy. What can I say for this service you have done? This sword is known to you; wear it for the sake of Adil Khan. And do thou, Fazil Khan, take these, the first marks of honour thou hast won; but, Inshalla! not the last;" and removing the costly jewel from his turban, and a heavy necklace of pearls from his neck, he invested the young man with them with his own hands.
"I have but one boon to ask, my prince," said Fazil; "it is for my friend, the Wuzeer's son. I will answer for him with my life, that he was as true as I am. May I console him?"
"Take this to him," said the King, removing a gold ring from his wrist; "tell him that from Adil Shah he need fear nothing."
"Altogether," said our friend the Lalla, who had accompanied the Khan and Fazil, "these Dekhanies have some method in their rudeness; but, after all, they are mad,—quite mad. Such ebullitions of temper could not have been allowed in the Padshah's court. Mobaruk, mobaruk bâd, Khan Sahib," he cried, heartily yet respectfully, to Afzool Khan and Fazil, as they were passing out and receiving the warm greetings of their friends,—and of all, high and low, who could reach them,—"let your poor servant be honoured by his congratulation being accepted."
"Ah, friend, art thou there?" replied the Khan. "Well, thou must be seen to; come to my house and we will arrange something for thee."
"May it please my lord to make me news-writer to his army," cried the Lalla, joining his hands. "My style, Inshalla!—is——"
"Well," said Afzool Khan, interrupting him good-humouredly. "Son, wilt thou have him?"
"I agree, father," said Fazil, smiling, "if he will serve under one who may, after all, be only a Gosai."
"I am my lord's slave to death. I am but a poor Khayet, but I can be of use to a discerning patron," returned the Lalla.
"Come, son," said the Khan, "let us see whether Kowas Khan be returned. The King's message should be delivered ere we proceed home. Methinks he and all his people would be safer with us for a few days, until men's minds are calmer."
We will not follow the Khan on his benevolent errand; nor can we detail how much mustard and coriander seed were burned withfrankincense before them to avert evil when they reached home: nor yet how often Goolab, and the other women-servants, and even the lady Lurlee herself, cracked their knuckles over them, till they would crack no more. One thing, however, was certain: the worthy lady was more than ever assured that she had read the planets aright, and, if she had not done so, a great evil would have befallen the family.
Somewhat later in the day, a few groups of men were assembled near those majestic Adansonian trees which still stand by the wayside between the Citadel and the outer gate of the fort of Beejapoor. The sun's rays fell slanting through their dense foliage, and cast broad shadows upon the bright green sward, which, with the trees themselves, glowed in the evening light. The wind had fallen, and not a leaf stirred in the oppressive sultry calm which prevailed.
On one side, upon piece of faded carpet, torn and ragged, sat a Fakeer, to all appearance, with long matted hair streaming over his shoulders to his waist, and over his face also, so as partly to conceal it. Some coarse rags hung loosely about him, but he wore the tall felt cap of the Kullunders, and their quilted robe thrown over his shoulders. He sat upon his heels, leaning upon a bright steel rod with prongs at the end, which might serve either for support or defence, and spoke to no one; but now and again a low cry of "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga," was rather muttered than cried aloud. A few copper coins and cowries, which had been thrown to him by passers-by, lay on the carpet.
At a little distance from him were two parties of armed men—some Mussulmans, some Hindus—standing, lounging on the grass, and speaking carelessly together. One of these, from his dress and hair, seemed to be of more pretension than the rest, and might be the Jemadar, or sub-officer of the party, and was attended by two men armed with "Puttas," long, broad Toledo blades, set in steel gauntlets inlaid with silver, which hung at their backs, the hilts projecting over their shoulders. These men were both short, with round backs, and very powerful frames; and, from this brief description, our previous acquaintance with them under the banian tree will be remembered.
"Perhaps they have pardoned him, after all, and let him go," said Rama. "The King is young, and soft as a woman; and what will the uncle yonder say to that, I wonder?"
"Impossible," replied Lukshmun; "I was behind the guards all the time, and heard Jehándar Beg ordered for execution under theGoruk Imlee. No, the King was as firm as our uncle when——Look! what is that? Can it be they?"
As he spoke, a small procession was seen approaching, a litter tied up as though a lady were within; a few footmen ran beside it, and a few horsemen rode before and behind. Unobtrusive in character, its movements were nevertheless followed with the greatest interest by the men we have mentioned, and even the Fakeer looked aside to watch it.
At first it seemed to be proceeding by the road in the direction of the outer gate; but as it arrived opposite the trees, the leading horsemen turned suddenly across the sward and halted under them, followed by the bearers, who at once hastily put down the litter and retired apart. The leader of the party drew up his own men at a little distance, while the footmen were directed to remove the cover of the litter. As they did so, the person within, who was pinioned, put his feet out of it, and stood up.
"Where is Hoosein, the executioner?" cried the officer; "he was ordered to be here; and this is no time for delay. Have any of ye seen him?" he asked of the people around.
Some one answered, "He is not here;" and another cried carelessly, "Hoosein does not like doing service for his own master;" and a third called out sneeringly, "You will find him drunk in the bazar by this time; go and look there."
"God forbid," said the officer, impatiently; "go, some of you, and see if he be coming in any direction;" and several of the horsemen dashed off at full speed.
"Enough, sir," said Jehándar Beg, sadly; "a keen sword is all that is needed; and ye are soldiers. Loose my hands, I pray ye, that I may say my last prayer before I die.... Peace for a while. Syn," he continued to the Fakeer, whose chant had increased to a solemn wail; "here is something for thee. See thou to my grave, and to the Fatehas after death. This will be enough, perhaps," he continued, with a sad smile, throwing some gold coins to the man, which lighted upon his carpet, but were not noticed.
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" was the only reply; but the tone, which had been raised as Jehándar Beg appeared, now subsided into a low murmur.
"Let it be here," said Jehándar Beg, stepping forward to a piece of smooth turf under one of the huge branches. "Will any one lend me a scarf? Stay, this will do," he continued, loosing his own shawl from his waist; "when I am dead, give it to the Durwaysh yonder." Then he spread it out on the ground, and knelt down upon it, with his face towards Mecca, settling the cap upon his head, smoothing his long curly beard, and the glossy brown curls which fell upon his neck. "There is no use asking for waterfor ablution," he muttered, "this will suffice;" and taking up a little dry earth, he rubbed his hands with it, allowing the dust to fall over his elbows.
Jehándar Beg looked once more around ere he began his prayer; above, to the stately trees, and their heavy foliage, among which a flock of noisy parroquets were fluttering from branch to branch, and screaming loudly; over the green sward, to the King's fort and palaces, on which, and upon the noble dome of the mausoleum of Mahmood Adil Shah, his first benefactor and patron, the mellow light of evening rested in a golden radiance, and away over trees, gardens, and minarets, all glowing in the same soft beauty; then upon the group around him, for a few chance passengers, seeing what was to happen, had gathered round the spot.
A shiver seemed to pass through him as he closed his eyes slowly. Not of fear, for the man, a Fatalist by creed and habit, was meeting his doom stoically as a brave Moslem can do; but a thought had crossed him which would not be put back—a vision of love and peace—of his girl wife in her rosy beauty, and of her fair boy, far away at his own village and home, in the blue mountains of Khorassan—and of a fond aged mother who lived with them. This season they were to have come to him. Who now would tell them of his fate?
"A word, Jemadar," he said to the officer. "Bid that Fakeer come hither."
"Thou wilt do it," he said, as the man rose and advanced, "for the sake of the gold. Give this ring to Afzool Khan—my worst enemy in life, and yet the truest man in Beejapoor—and these papers; he will know what to write to my—my—to my house. And now, friends, peace, and the peace of God and the love of the Prophet be with ye! When I have said the prayer, I would die."
It was finished, but as yet no executioner had arrived. Jehándar Beg sat resting upon his heels, his eyes closed, while his beads passed rapidly through his fingers as his lips moved in prayer.
"We cannot delay," cried the Jemadar to those around, "will none of ye strike a blow for the King? Here is the warrant, and here is a bag of money for any who will earn it."
"Go thou, Rama," said Lukshmun, nudging his brother, "thou art a surer hand with the 'Putta' than I am; but if thou wilt not, I will try mine on that rascal, who hath strung up many a better fellow than himself on these trees. Hast thou forgotten what he did to our people?"
"Yes," added Gopal Singh; "go, Rama, and end this play. See thou do it well, and they will give thee the money. Go!"
"If the uncle wills it," said Rama, hitching forward his long weapon, as he looked for a moment to the Fakeer, who bowed his head, imperceptibly to others, yet intelligibly to them, as he repeatedhis cry. "Yes, I will do it," and drawing the broad blade, on which the sun's rays flashed brightly, he felt its edge, then put his hand into the gauntlet which reached to his elbow, and fastened the straps over his wrist and arm carefully. He now advanced lightly, with circling steps, flourishing the heavy weapon, as though it had been a stick, round and round his head; yet, with every sweep, it was clear that he was measuring his distance more carefully. Another moment—a bright flash in the air—a whistling sound as the sword clove it—and the head of Jehándar Beg rolled to the ground, the lips still moving with the prayer which he had not finished, while the trunk fell forward quivering.
"The second to-day," said Rama, muttering to himself, as he wiped his sword on the sward. "Enough, enough!"
"Soobhán Ulla!" exclaimed the Jemadar. "A brave stroke. Thou shouldst be chief executioner thyself, friend."
"That is my brother, noble sir," said Lukshmun, interrupting the speaker, "and he does not like being spoken to after he has cut off a man's head. Give me the money, Jemadar Sahib, and let us begone; you see he is cleaning his sword; he might dirty it again if he were vexed."
"Take it, friend," returned the officer, "and away with ye, for yonder is Hoosein Jullâd coming, and ye may perchance quarrel over it. Begone!"
"Bid him and his party watch here till I bring men to bury the dead," said the seeming Fakeer, who had again risen and advanced, and who, having removed the bloody shawl, was rolling it up. "Watch with them, even though it should be night. This gold will suffice for all, and I will return." So saying, he stalked away rapidly in the direction of the fort, while his strange cry changed—"Ulla dilâyâ to leea, Ulla dilâyâ to leea!" (God gave and I took, God gave and I took!)
"Sir, here are the executioner's men, and they will watch; we need not stay," said one of the soldiers to their officer. "Let us go."
The litter was taken up, the soldiers moved rapidly away, and there remained only the watchers and two women, wrapped closely in heavy sheets, who had not been previously noticed, and who sat cowering behind one of the giant trunks, sobbing bitterly. Perhaps——; but no matter now.
The sun was sinking fast, and its rays fell upon a pool of blood, glistening, as it dried among the blades of the close sward,—upon a ghastly head, its face turned upwards to the sky,—and a headless trunk beside it, from which the crimson stream was still oozing. Above, on the high bare branches, sat foul birds and ravens, which had already scented the blood, and whose hoarse croaks mingled with the heavy rustle of the wings of vultures, assembling for a night feast;—no unusual matter, perhaps, in that place.
"A Fakeer says he must see you, my lord," said Goolab to Afzool Khan, as he sat quietly in his accustomed seat after the evening prayer. "He is in the court at the door, and will take no denial. He will not go away, but cursed frightfully when we said you were tired, and were resting in private."
"A Fakeer, Goolab! Do you know him?"
"All he says, master, is 'Ulla dilâyâ to leea,'" replied the woman, "and he declared he would cut himself with a knife and throw his blood upon us if we did not tell you. Hark! there is a shout."
"Ulla dilâyâ to leea!"
The Khan did not delay. "I know him, Goolab," he said. "Go, and say I come."
"Bid every one depart hence," said the man as Afzool Khan approached him, attended by several servants. "What I have to say to thee brooks no listeners. There," he continued, when all had gone; and flinging down the bloody scarf at the Khan's feet, "look, it is his blood who would have been true, but for him who went to hell before him. Here is his last request to thee, Afzool Khan, for he trusted thee only, of all this city. Take them, I have done his last bidding."
"His seal and these papers, Syn. More treason, perhaps. Did he say aught of them?" said the Khan.
"Only that they belonged to his house, and I should give them to you; and he died like a brave man as he was."
"Yes, as he was, Syn," echoed the Khan sadly—"as he was. And thou hast buried him? Else——"
"I have cared for that; it doth not concern thee, Khan."
"And who art thou, Syn? We have met before to-day."
"Ay, Khan, and before that often. Am I safe with thee? Put thy hand on my head; nay, fear not a poor servant of God, and I will tell thee who I am."
"Surely, friend," replied Afzool Khan, putting out his hand upon the high felt cap, "fear not."
"Not there, not there; on my head," cried the man, grasping the Khan's hand, and kissing it while he removed the cap; "on my head, on my head. Ask Ali Adil Shah of me, and remember—Pahar Singh."
"Pahar Singh!" exclaimed the Khan, starting back.
"Hush, fear not; I have been pardoned, and the Shah's hand hath been before thine on his head; fear not, I will be true to thee, for thou art faithful to him. Thy hand once more, Khan, freely and truly upon my head."
"Go, friend," said Afzool Khan, placing it as he desired. "Go, I doubt thee not, for I have heard what happened last night; go in peace. Whatever thou canst do for the Shah will not be forgotten."
"There is yet one more work to-day ere I sleep, Khan—one more, and I go to do it. God be with you."
As he departed, the men on guard would have stopped him, but again the old cry arose, and in his assumed character no one molested him, as the shout, rising and falling on the air, died away in the far distance.
Afzool Khan took up the bloody scarf and gave it to an attendant. "Let it be washed, and kept till I ask for it," he said. Not long afterwards some Persian merchants were returning to their country, and they bore the last requests of the unhappy Jehándar Beg, with such monies as could be saved out of his property, to his family.
That evening the crypt under the old tomb was again empty. Maloosray's scouts had brought him the news of Bulwunt Rao having survived his wound; and of the occurrences in the Durbar of the King, of which he had been advised by the Brahmun we have seen in communication with Jehándar Beg. Watching from the terrace of the temple, he had seen the Wuzeer's arrival at Allapoor; followed his course across the plain; and guessed, by the confusion and shots at the gate, and the dispersion of the horsemen with him, that something extraordinary had taken place, the particulars of which, and of the subsequent execution of Jehándar Beg, were related by his scouts. Under the presence of Pahar Singh, therefore, Beejapoor was no longer safe; and as night closed, the whole party, unobserved, left their hiding-place to its usual tenants, the jackals and hyenas of the plain.
As night fell, and as Maloosray knew all the Mahomedans would be engaged in their evening prayer, his little party emerged from the crypt, and took their way westward across the plain, avoiding the suburbs, and threading the narrow lanes among the fields, which on all sides skirted the city. One by one his followers and scouts had been despatched in advance to meet them at certain places; and a spot known to all, where the great northern and western roads diverged, was fixed upon as a final place of rendezvous. Thither, also, had been despatched the wounded man, Ranojee, who, unable to ride far at a time, was to proceed by easy stages with the scouts and other servants to Jutt, the chieftain of which town was a sincere adherent to their cause.
Maloosray himself, taking Nettajee, and the chief scout Ramjee with two others, to serve as grooms, had determined to visit Tooljapoor before he returned to his master. There were many activepartisans of weight in the Bâlâ Ghaut; what had they determined upon, and what was his old friend Jeswunt Rao Bhóslay of Sindphul doing? It was impossible to write, and as long as personal communication can be insured, Mahrattas never write letters. It was above all things necessary that Moro Trimmul and Jeswunt Rao must have the first news of the Wuzeer's death; and except it were reported by royal express to the camp at Nuldroog, it could hardly be known at Tooljapoor next day. It was a long ride, certainly, but it was possible to reach Tooljapoor, and to secure Moro Trimmul's safety, in case it should be threatened.
The occurrences at Beejapoor had been very unexpected by Maloosray. At first sight they appeared to be a sore discouragement to the plans which had been almost matured; and for some time he rode in silence, brooding over the catastrophe we have recorded. He could not account for it. To all appearance the King and the Wuzeer had been on excellent terms, and Jehándar Beg their confidant; yet in one day both had been destroyed, and the party of Afzool Khan had suddenly become the leading one in the State. Was he ambitious, he might be prime minister. In his heart Maloosray acknowledged his fitness for the post. No other person would command the allegiance of the army, with whom Khan Mahomed had not been popular. "It will unite in the Khan, and we shall have enough to do to escape it," he thought, "but the young tree will bend to the storm when the old one will break, and we may find opportunity to strengthen ourselves, while we do not weaken the royal house."
Now the moon shone out brightly. There had been no rain since the storm of the previous night. The day had been hot and sultry; but as the night fell, a delicious breeze, soft and cool, had succeeded the calm of the evening, and the road was sufficiently dry to be travelled without inconvenience. Maloosray's noble mare seemed to feel, with her master, the invigorating effects of freedom of action,—and her light and springy movements, which conveyed to the rider an involuntary assurance of activity and endurance, excited within him a more hopeful spirit than that with which he had quitted the city. Now and again, as they passed some muddy rivulet, or stony portion of the road, a word of encouragement or caution from her rider would be answered by a low whinny, which was followed by a loving caress of her arched neck, and thus a perfect accordance seemed to be established between them.
"Shall we reach the river before daylight, Sidda," said Maloosray to his guide; "and can we get the boat? Will it be on this side?"
"The boatmen are all friends of mine, master," replied the man, "and will cross me at any village or at any time; fear not, I will sayI have dispatches, and they believe in this stick that I am on the royal service. No one will dare to stop one of the royal Hurkaras with this as his warrant;" and as he spoke he flourished the weapon—a short stout staff, gaily lacquered in rings of red, yellow, and black, with a heavy tuft of black cotton yarn at the end, from whence projected a formidable four-sided lance about a foot long, the point of which was carefully sharpened—lightly round his head.
They rode on, keeping the main track; now and again passing villages, where they were saluted by a chorus of barks and howls from the village dogs; again traversing long intervals between others, where the occasional piping of sleepless plovers, the wailing cries of ever-wakeful restless lapwings, and an occasional burst of howls and screams from packs of wandering jackals,—were the only sounds which fell on their ears in those solitudes.
They met no one at that hour, but they did not pass the villages, lying upon the road, unremarked. Here a shrill challenge was blown upon a horn as they passed a gate; there a drum was beaten, and other indications given of the village watch being on the alert, or a shot was fired from a bastion or watch-tower, the bullet of which sung harmlessly above their heads into the air. They were rough times those, when men ploughed with their fire-arms slung at their backs, and when the village cattle, while grazing, had to be guarded by parties of matchlock men against the raids of more powerful neighbours.
The moon set soon after midnight, and the wind again arose, sighing as it swept across the broad plains in fitful gusts, or rustling among the tall fields of grain which bordered the road. Light clouds, too, were rising from the westward, and hurrying across the face of the sky, partly obscured the stars, and caused additional gloom. Under other guidance Maloosray would have felt uncertain of the path; but the Hurkara never diverted from the track, or slackened his pace; and the party passed on unnoticed, at the greatest speed that the light and the road would admit of, without distressing their horses.
As they ascended one of the long undulating eminences, which are the characterizing features of the country, and which commanded a view for some miles around, Maloosray's attention was attracted by a light which, emerging from behind some grain fields from another direction, was advancing rapidly towards them, and apparently would cross the road a little in advance of them. It was evidently a torch, possibly that of some travellers; yet it moved too swiftly and regularly for men on foot; and to the keen practised ear of Maloosray himself, as well as of his followers, the tread of a body of horse was heard, while the slight occasionalsparkles from weapons, and the dull red glow of matches, were soon distinctly visible.
Could they have been followed? Had any one remarked their departure from the city? The little party halted at once, and drew up out of the track of the road to escape observation, and watched the movement of the light before them with beating hearts. Nor were they long in suspense. After disappearing for a moment in a hollow, the light appeared again upon the road itself, and the body of horse, which might be fifty or more, drew up across their way and halted.
Who could they be? Certain it was that the party was now posted there to waylay some one who was expected, and the information they were acting upon was apparently as sure as their movements were methodical. Not a neigh escaped their horses, nor was there any commotion apparently among the men. The place chosen was admirably adapted for a surprise. The road, as we have said, led up a slight ascent or spur of an undulation, the sides of which broke into small but rough ravines and watercourses intermixed with large loose boulders of basalt, difficult to be traversed on horseback even by day, and quite impassable by night. These features were the same on both sides; and the spur itself was a narrow neck, which widened, as the plain above stretched out, into one of the usual broad expanses of waste and cultivated lands.
"They have come by Hórtee," said the Hurkara in a whisper—"the village there in the hollow—and are waiting for some one. Master, dost thou fear them?—they will hardly molest travellers such as we are. Shall we go on?"
It was a difficult point to decide. There was certainly no way of avoiding them and yet keeping the road.
"Go, Ramjee," said Maloosray to his scout; "go and see who they are. Be careful! my mind misgives me about them."
"Master," replied the man, "this ground is higher than theirs, and if they put out the light they will see thee against the sky. Retire a little lower, and Enkôba and I will find it all out for you."
Maloosray saw the intelligence of the advice, and acted promptly upon it, while the two men, well accustomed to such proceedings, crept warily along under cover of bushes and inequalities, of the ground, till they entered a tall field of grain, in which they could move without chance of observation up to the very party itself, and from which they looked with safety upon the horsemen.
As they had supposed, the body was drawn up across the road. One flank overlapped the corn-field, on the path by which they had come; the other rested upon a declivity where the same path descended to the westward. It was clear that the position could not be turned without great risk, and it was impossible to say whether the path to Hórtee might not be guarded also.
In front of the party, and near a man who held a torch which he replenished with oil from time to time, were two persons mounted on powerful horses, whose wet coats and panting flanks showed that they had been ridden at a rapid rate; and it was also evident from the condition of the rest, splashed with mud and with similar evidences of fatigue, that, whatever might be the object, speed had not been spared in its pursuit.
"They cannot pass this unobserved," said the elder of the two, "and there can be no suspicion that we are on this road. Ah, there is no such trap, boy, in the country, not a rat could get by it. Well, we have not been idle; first Khan Mahomed, second the Kótwal, and now Maloosray and his friend Nettajee."
"You have not got them yet," thought Ramjee, "and Tannajee is not game for you, old fox. But for him, my dagger would have made acquaintance with you that day in the Gosai's Mutt at Tooljapoor. Ah! who could have told him of us?"
"I think, uncle, we had as well put out the torch," said a man, coming forward, riding a tall grey mare. "Tannajee is not a moth to fly into a candle."
"Good, Lukshmun," said the chief; "put it out."
"I think we were wrong, father," said the other leader; "a few men would have surrounded that den under the tomb, and no one could have escaped."
"True; but you would not have taken Tannajee alive, and here he will be helpless. No, it is better as it is; and he shall sit under the Goruk Imlees, and die like Jehándar Beg, before me."
"And Rama shall help him on his way to the gods, master, if you like," said Lukshmun. "He says he is quite ready, and he got the Putta sharpened again."
"Silence!" said the chief, as the light was extinguished, "not a word must be spoken now, nor a horse stir. Be careful, all of ye."
The scouts had seen and heard enough. The rustling of the high corn-stalks and their leaves, under the breeze, prevented their return through them being heard, and in a few moments they had rejoined Maloosray, who, with Nettajee, had descended the brow of the ascent for a few paces, and could not be seen from above.
"Master," whispered the scout, "'tis the Old Lion, Pahar Singh, and his cub, Gopal, and their men. I saw one of the hunchbacks, too, with them."
"Ha! the Old Lion thinks to have a feast to-day, Nettajee," said Maloosray, "but the man is yet to be born who will take Tannajee alive. And what did he say, Ramjee?"
"He said you should be taken alive, and that you should sit under the Goruk Imlees, and have your head cut off, like Jehándar Beg, by Rama the hunchback."
"Ah," said Tannajee, "he should not have brought a torch with him, Netta, else it was not ill-contrived. By the Holy Mother, there had been small chance for us had we got among them. And now, what is to be done?"
"We must go back. Beyond the rivulet and the date grove yonder is a path which leads to Boorga, and so to Churchan, if my lord does not care for a few coss more," said the Hurkara; "and, after all, it is as near as any other road to Mundroop."
"Good," said Tannajee; "let us be quick, they may advance."
So they moved carefully down the descent, beyond which was a small rivulet bordered by thin date trees and other brushwood. "See," said Netta, as they crossed the small stream, "we are but just in time: there they are!" and as Tannajee looked up, he saw several figures projected in outline against the sky, one of whom was pointing to the road leading to Beejapoor.
"I thought the Old Lion had been more wary," he said, "than to show himself in that manner; but he may cool his heart now; he had better have made for the ferry!"
It had, however, been a narrow escape, and one for which Tannajee vowed to feed a hundred Brahmuns at Tooljapoor; but the danger was past, and after a somewhat rough track for a short distance westward, the guide struck confidently into a broader road, which, like the preceding, led northwards, and, as the day dawned, the river-bank at the ferry beyond Churchan was safely reached. The guide's staff of office proved irresistible. In a few moments they were seated in one of the large circular coracle baskets of wicker-work, covered with hide, which serve as ferry-boats; and with the two mares swimming in front, and guided by the men who held them, and the skilful paddles of three lusty rowers, the party crossed the stream, and were beyond danger of pursuit.
In his last letter to Beejapoor, Moro Trimmul had directed his agent there to inform Maloosray that, at the day of which we write, there would be recitations in the temple, and, under cloak of this, that most of the heads of the Mahratta families were to assemble; it would, therefore, be advisable if he could meet them. It was partly on this account, but most particularly because of the murder of Khan Mahomed, that Tannajee had left the city so abruptly, and ridden through the night without a check.
Nor did Tannajee and his companion take rest anywhere during the day following, except for such refreshment as was absolutelynecessary. They avoided all large towns and villages; and, as Tannajee knew the country perfectly by day, he guided his friend by cross paths, frequently through fields and waste lands, till, as the evening fell, they drew up before the gate of Sindphul, the village below the pass of Tooljapoor, which we have before had occasion to mention.
The owner, a distant relative of the Rajah Sivaji, by name Jeswunt Rao Bhóslay, was an intimate friend of Maloosray's, and a true and influential ally of the general cause in those districts. Maloosray's sudden arrival surprised him little, for in consequence of what Moro Trimmul had written, he had been expected; and, after a short conference, Maloosray urged that the news he had brought should be communicated to Moro Trimmul and those assembled with as little delay as possible, and in this Jeswunt Rao concurred.
So, after a slight rest and hearty meal, which both needed, the stout ponies, provided by their host, were announced to be ready in the courtyard of the house, and, accompanied by half-a-score of stout sword-and-buckler men, with matchlocks and lighted matches, they rode out of the village gate.
The active ponies, though well accustomed to the rough mountain-road, had paused for a moment to take breath on the level spot from whence the buildings could be seen below—the glare of light, spreading up both sides of the dell, revealing crag and rough wood, with the gilded pinnacles of the temple glittering brightly through the smoke of torches and of incense; but their impatient riders again urged them up the rocky ascent with all the speed they were capable of exciting. At the town gate there was no hindrance, for Jeswunt Rao was well known; so they were admitted without difficulty, and, leaving the animals at a house which belonged to him, adjoining the main street, the party proceeded at once in the direction of the temple.
It was no easy matter, however, to get there. As they approached the gate at the head of the steps descending into the ravine, and on the steps themselves, the crowds were almost impassable, but good-humour prevailed, and, after some struggles, the lower court and the great assembly were safely reached.
It was a remarkable sight. The court itself was crowded with spectators so closely packed that to move was impossible. They were sitting upon the paved floor in rows facing the centre, where an open space had been provided for the priests, and an avenue left for their communication with the shrine. Around this the most distinguished of the guests had been placed; and Maloosray observed with satisfaction, that many influential persons whom he desired to see, were present. So far, his visit could not have been better timed.
All round the court were huge cressets of iron, fixed into bracketsin the walls and arches of the court. These were filled with cotton-seed which, fed with oil from time to time, threw a broad glare upon the people, and lighted up not only the temple and its quaint and fanciful ornaments, but the buildings around,—and above, the crags and precipices, with the houses hanging to them.
There was not a spot unoccupied; even the ledges and projections of the high pyramidal roof and spires of the temple were crowded, while the terraces of the vestibule and cloisters around, reserved for the ladies of the Hindu gentry of the neighbourhood, and of the chief visitors and priests, glowed with the gay colours of their garments, which stood out against the dark background of the mountain-side.
As the party advanced through the crowd, Moro Trimmul, who was among the Brahmun reciters, saw the tall figure of Maloosray behind that of Jeswunt Rao of Sindphul, who was struggling manfully with the crowd, and advanced hastily to greet him. He had hardly expected so prompt a compliance with his request, but was rejoiced that it had been made. He greeted Maloosray and Palkur heartily, and led them to the reserved space, where, recognized by many present, and speedily made known to others, they received a hearty welcome, and took their seats.
A few words whispered, sufficed to explain to Moro Trimmul the situation of affairs at Beejapoor, and the necessity for immediate action.
"We must dismiss the assembly earlier than usual," he said, in reply to Maloosray's anxious question as to how long the ceremonies would be continued, "and I will hasten what remains. Do not heed me; I have to take my part now, and as the assembly rises I will rejoin you."
Thus saying, Moro Trimmul passed into the dark vestibule of the temple, and was divesting himself of his upper garments and turban, when, from a pillar behind, the girl Gunga came towards him.
"I have been searching for thee," she said; "they wanted thee. Where hast thou been so long?"
"No matter where," he said gloomily. "Thou couldst have found me without, if needful. What hast thou done?"
"Nothing," she replied. "I cannot get speech of her, and the rest will not join me; they are afraid."
"So art thou, Gunga," he replied; "afraid, afraid of a girl? Ah, coward and liar!"
"Thou art afraid thyself, Moro Trimmul," she retorted. "Go! take her away. There she stands, no one will prevent thee; there, by the door—alone."
Moro Trimmul stepped from behind the pillar, still keeping within the gloom, and looked forward. Before the blaze of the shrine, andthe lamps without it, stood Tara, in the act of bearing garlands of flowers to the altar. A number of them were hanging upon her left arm, while, with her right hand extended, she was delivering some to the priest.
As she stood at the door, in the full glare of the lamps within, the light fell upon her rich crimson silk drapery, its heavy borders and ends of flowered gold, and the massive gold zone which confined it round her waist; while the attitude she had involuntarily assumed, as she turned towards the shrine, showed the graceful outlines of her figure to peculiar advantage. She had wreathed a long garland of white flowers into her hair, which fell about her neck and bosom; and another was twisted round her brows, so as to form a coronet. It was a fanciful but simple and beautiful decoration, which suited the character of her small graceful head, and added to the charm of her attire.
Moro Trimmul watched her intently as she delivered the garlands to the old priest; then, as if a service had been done, she advanced to the centre of the doorway, and, making a low reverence, stepped aside and stood erect, looking into the vestibule in expectation, as it were, of further devotees. Moro Trimmul could see the sweet mouth parted in a smile, the pearly teeth glistening within the rosy lips, and the soft eyes flashing as the strong side light fell upon them. Beyond her the deep gloom of the recesses of the temple could not be penetrated. So her figure stood out against it in a power of effective relief which was almost startling.
It was a strange contrast. Within, the dreaded image, richly attired and covered with priceless jewels, the tiara on its head, and the weird ruby eyes, now sparkling brightly, now changing and glowing fitfully amidst the clouds of incense which was burning before it, and the black, stony, changeless features, seeming even to vary in expression with the passing effects of light and shadow. Without, Tara in her rich attire and glowing beauty, and that rapt expression in her countenance, which the excitement of the scene and the service of the "Holy Mother" had caused it to assume.
Moro Trimmul sighed. With all the fierce desire which burned within him, and which now gave him no rest night or day, there was mingled, curiously perhaps, a loving reverence for the girl, which, as yet, had restrained him both from violence and insult. It might be her character and position which had excited it, but rather, perhaps, her own innate purity and modesty of mind, and the charming simplicity of character, which he saw in daily exercise in her house, that controlled the fiery passions of his nature and his avowed unscrupulousness.
"If I were a man," sneered his companion, as she stood with him concealed behind the large pillar, "I should not be a coward whensuch a woman as that was burning at my heart. By the gods, she is no woman, but an incarnation of beauty. Look at her now!"
"Peace, devil," cried the Brahmun in a hoarse whisper; "hast thou forgotten the gold, and thy promise by the Pâp-nâs?"
"No, I have not forgotten," said Gunga, "I have part of it here;" and she shook her foot, on which the gold anklets tinkled slightly; "and I want to change this silver thing round my waist for a zone like hers yonder. Ah, how it glows among the rich silk! But thou art a coward, Moro Trimmul, else I had earned it long ago; and I could have helped thee."
"Go and speak to her, Gunga, and I will believe thee braver than I am," he replied tauntingly. "If she cannot be spoken with, how wilt thou earn the zone?"
The girl regarded him with a look of defiance, and, without reply, stepped forward into the light, advanced towards the shrine, making a slight reverence to the image, glided forwards, and stood opposite to Tara.
"Thou hast served many hours, sister," she said, in an assumed voice of kindness, "and must be weary; sit down within for a while, and I will do what is needed; 'tis my office," she continued, laughing, "as well as thine."
Moro Trimmul marked the involuntary shudder of aversion which spread over Tara's countenance, and the action of withdrawing the skirts of her garment between her ankles, which accompanied it. Then she spoke.
"I am not weary of the Mother's service; when I am I will come no more," she said gently. "Go away; I will not speak with thee or thy people, and that thou knowest full well; go."
"And why should I go?" cried Gunga, excitedly; "am I not a Moorlee like thyself, and have I not served the Mother longer than thee? To be sure, I am neither a Brahmun nor a widow to be nice as thou art; yet I bid thee go, and let me have my turn: thou hast had more than thy share of money already to-day."
"It is all in the shrine before the Mother," said Tara, shrinking from the bold glances and excited manner of the girl. "I have taken none of it: I need it not."
"That does not matter," said Gunga; "I will have my turn now. Go away; thou art not wanted. Those that will not dance before the Mother are not worthy to serve her. Go, else some of us will push thee out."
"Me!" cried Tara, drawing up her slight figure proudly, her eyes flashing, and her features quivering with indignation,—"me! you dare not; you are impure, and the Mother loathes you: touch me, and she will strike you dead!"
Gunga shrunk from the trial; and others of her sisterhood, whohad stood apart ready to advance, slunk again into the gloom behind the pillars. Gunga looked round as if for countenance, but no one seemed disposed to join her, while the old priest at the altar, who had caught the sound of voices, came to the door, and, seeing Gunga, waved her off.
"Away with ye, and the like of ye!" he cried. "Outside do as ye please; here ye are an offence. Away! let her stay;" and he pointed to Tara. "Do not molest her."
"There is some spell about thee, Tara, which shuts my mouth; beware!" muttered Gunga, retreating; "it may not always be so."
"Bear me witness," said Tara to the old priest, "she is threatening me."
"Ah, daughter," he replied, smiling, "fear not such as she; the Mother is good to thee; and they cannot harm thee so long as thou art holy and pure."
"I did not tell thee to quarrel with her," said Moro Trimmul angrily, seizing Gunga's arm as she approached, and dragging her within the shadow of the pillar. "Art thou mad, or has any one given thee drink, Gunga?"
"I spoke to her kindly, which is more than thou darest to do," retorted the girl sharply. "What answer did I get? Pure? Why should she be pure? I tell thee there is a spell about her neck—I saw it glittering among the flowers—which put me back: I could not speak. Yes, Moro Trimmul, if it be only to put that spell under my foot, and crush it with her throat, I will do it; yes, I will earn the gold; let her see to herself."
"Good," he replied; "then I can trust thee. Come to me to-morrow, and fail not." And then, naked to the waist, with his soft glossy hair falling over his shoulders, and his fine figure displayed to the best advantage, Moro Trimmul passed out, and took his place among the reciters.
Gunga's eyes followed him. "Drink!" she muttered; "drink! he said that. Well, better drink than this madness, which is worse." And, sitting down, leaning against a pillar, she hid her face in her garment, and sobbed bitterly.