The Palace of the Seven Stories still exists as one of the most noble and picturesque ruins of the Fort of Beejapoor. Of the Seven Stories, only five are now traceable; the two upper have been destroyed, perhaps by lightning, or have fallen from decay and disrepair; and it is only in the third that the remains of the beautiful chamber still existent there convey an idea of the effect of the whole structure when it was perfect. Even this has been much damaged. The gilding of the walls, of the groins of the arches and fretted roof, and of its delicate arabesque borders, has all been scraped off, and the fresco paintings are so destroyed by exposure, that but little exists to tell the history of the beautiful Bhagiruttee, the mistress of the monarch who built the palace for her.
Enough, however, remains to show what the general design and execution of the work were; enough to prove the exquisite taste which had directed its completion, and the skill and boldness of the architect who had raised the dizzy tower so high. Then, the spacious arches and oriel windows were filled by richly carved panels and shutters of teak wood, which admitted sufficient light and air: now, these are all gone, the windows are open, and the rain and sun and wind are rapidly causing decay and destruction of what remains. The upper stories are so broken that they cannot be ascended; but in the one of which we speak, the traveller will be tempted to sit a while looking over the masses of ruins beneath him: and over the still perfect walls of the citadel. Beyond, the undulating plain studded with mounds, shows lines of streets, with broken arches, minarets, and some still perfect mosques, mausoleums, and palaces, which have withstood the effects of time and the spoiler, and remain as proofs of the splendour which once prevailed.
At the period of our tale all these were perfect. The city spread away to the south and west, covering many miles of plain with those streets and houses of which the lines of mounds alone remain. They are interspersed with villages, which are probably portions of the old city, never entirely deserted, and to which the descendants of the population of those days have clung through all vicissitudes. To the east and north, after looking over the greater part of the citadel,the eye followed the plain beyond—the proper esplanade of the fort—and the undulating rising ground to the north-east, from which the Moghul batteries had so recently poured a storm of shot upon the defences, yet happily with no effect.
The King's apartment opened to the west; and, like Afzool Khan about the same time, he sat courting the breeze, which played gently round the rich clustered mullions of the oriel window, and refreshed and soothed him. The storm had died away, and the night was clear and fresh; while, from the garden below, ascended the mingled perfume of champas, limes, tuberoses, jessamine of various kinds, and other sweet-scented flowers, which loaded the air almost to excess.
A silver lamp, on a tall silver stand, stood in a recess sheltered from the open casement, and its seven wicks burned brightly, illuminating the chamber, and by their strong light causing the gilded roof, arches, and groins, with all their delicate colouring of rose-colour, yellow, light-green, and blue enamel, to assume a soft harmony of effect—different from the light of day, yet perhaps more beautiful.
Furniture there was none; but in the space enclosed by the oriel window, there was spread a rich, soft, Persian carpet, which filled its area, on which, in the corner near where the young King was sitting, lay a thick quilted mattress of green satin brocaded with gold, and a large pillow of the same material, both covered with fine muslin. This had been the King's seat, and it was thickly strewn with papers—some Persian, some Mahratta—which, to all appearance, had been under examination, and he had evidently just left it and placed himself by the casement which he had opened. He was alone, but, by the frequent glances towards the doorway, which was covered by a heavy curtain, some one seemed impatiently expected.
The events of the night had aroused unusual energy in the young King; nor, since his accession to the throne, had any occurrence excited him like the discovery of treason in the man he had, perhaps, most trusted—his prime minister, Khan Mahomed. It was so unprovoked, so undeserved. Early in life great ability and aptitude for business had been remarked in the Abyssinian slave, Rehân, by the late King; and he had risen, as favourites among Asiatic princes often do, rapidly to rank and wealth, with every honour which an attached and grateful prince could bestow upon him. Finally he had reached the rank of prime minister or Wuzeer, as we have already mentioned, and, amidst all the distractions and intrigues of faction, had succeeded in preserving his monarch's attachment.
In this position he was maintained by the young King on his accession to the throne, notwithstanding the insinuations of many that the Wuzeer was unfaithful. The King had not heeded these suspicions, nor, indeed, beyond mere rumour, was there anythingwhich could lead to confirmation of them; and as the Wuzeer desired it as a proof of his fidelity, the Abyssinians under his command had been pushed on to the north to watch the Moghul armies; for it was better to submit to the turbulence of the Dekhan chieftains at the capital, who could be controlled by neutral forces like those of Afzool Khan, than to risk the possible misconduct of the others. Again, the Dekhanies could not be trusted with the frontier; and the King, impressed with the fidelity of Khan Mahomed, had left him at has post.
At this period the Dekhanies and Abyssinians were rival factions in the state. The latter were more amenable to discipline than the former, who were descendants of those Mahomedan warriors—Toorks, Tartars, and Affghans—who, at the close of the thirteenth century, under Alla-oo-Deen, had invaded the south of India, and wrested the territory in which they had settled from the Mahrattas of Deogurh and the Canarese dynasty of Beejanuggur. They had founded, and maintained the dynasty of Gulburgah, against the attacks of powerful Hindu states, and, when they separated from it, had attached themselves to the founders of other dynasties, which rivalled, and, indeed, exceeded in splendour, the parent one.
Those who were in Beejapoor had joined Ibrahim Adil Shah, when he declared and established his independence of the Bahmani dynasty of Gulburgah, and they had risen to rank and wealth with the state. They had been led to victory by that monarch and his successors; they had conquered province after province from the infidels of the southern Hindu states, and they had at last finally subdued and overturned the ancient Hindu monarchy of Beejanuggur, which, for several generations, was their bitter enemy and rival. Was it wonderful that they at length became arrogant, and that, to maintain an equipoise against them, another element, the Abyssinian, was admitted into this state? It is the old story in the history of the world of exclusive military power; the old play which has always been played out when the characters are brought together.
There were proud names among these old Dekhan families, which still exist, Tartars and Toorks, who ill brooked the control of slaves like Abyssinians. They were free, and held themselves equal in rank to their own king—proud barons in fact, who seldom accepted administrative service, and were rarely fit for it; men "who could fight, but could not write," as they boasted; turbulent, arrogant, quarrelsome among themselves, split into as many factions as they were families and tribes. The "Dâgtorays," "Alla-ool-Moolks," "Bhylmees," "Kalla Chuttrees," "Saféd Poshs," and a host of others, were faithful to their own state, while they were an unceasing source of anxiety, and often distress, to its administrators.
So long as the Moghul armies had threatened the capital, or therewas employment daily in the field to meet a common danger, these tribes and their chiefs had found occupation against the common enemy, and had fought valiantly and successfully. The best cavalry of the Moghul army was no match for these fiery Dekhan cavaliers. Reckless of life, well mounted, each tribe and appellation vying with each other, whenever there was a chance in their broad plains, they had not neglected it, and were ever in advance of the more disciplined though slower moving bodies of Abyssinian horse and foot, whom they despised as slaves.
Between the extremes of party were those who, like Afzool Khan, belonged to neither, who held a common interest and faith in the dynasty they served, and whose arms had often been turned against Abyssinians, and against Dekhanies, whenever revolts or mutinies of either rendered it necessary.
Among these contending factions, and ever present rivalries, the course of the young King had been difficult and devious since his accession; but respect to his father's memory and experience, for he had been a wise prince, a successful administrator, and a valiant warrior in the field, had, in the end, induced him to continue the predominance of the Abyssinian element in council; and to allow the Dekhanies scope for their ambition in military commands and active service in distant provinces of the kingdom, retaining those only at the capital who would prove a counterpoise to the Abyssinians, in case of need. Influenced by personal esteem, and even affection, for the man who had been his father's most trusted counsellor and friend, he had retained Khan Mahomed in office, notwithstanding the evil reports of his Dekhan officers; and under these circumstances the distress, and even dismay, of the young King at the discovery of the treachery, which had long existed, was hard to endure. It was his first bitter lesson in life, and there were few to fall back upon for advice or consolation.
In his extremity his thoughts had turned to Afzool Khan first, perhaps, of all: but again, his known intimacy with the Wuzeer; the report that the families would soon be united by the marriage of Khan Mahomed's son to the old Khan's daughter; the notorious friendship of the young men; and, above all, a certain reticence in Afzool Khan's expressions whenever the Wuzeer's character or actions were discussed—recurred to the King, and his thoughts turned from Afzool Khan to others in succession, yet finding rest nowhere.
Of all his officers, on whom could he depend? Jehándar Beg, who should have been his executive in any arrest of the Wuzeer, was known to be his dependent: and thus speculating on each, he estimated bitterly how really weak he was in personal adherents.
At first all appeared to be decided in his favour, but gradually requests were made under one pretext or other, which disclosed thetrue objects of his courtiers, and the young King had sufficient discernment to estimate their professions at their full value. It was these experiences which threw him back upon himself, and upon the Wuzeer, who was, at least as he thought, moderate and unselfish. Moderate, certainly, to him; yet, at heart, more grasping and more treacherous than any.
There was no doubt of that now. Again and again had the King taken up the letter we have before read, and examined it closely, and had each time laid it down with increased conviction that it was genuine. There could be no doubt either as to the seal or the writing. Khan Mahomed's own hand was too peculiar to be imitated; yet he had doubted—still doubted. It is hard to admit conviction of guilt when one's affections are pleading innocence, but here it was not to be resisted; and, as most generally follows such conviction, those very affections were fast becoming the most unrelenting judges.
"Let them but confirm this," said the King, aloud, as he looked out, and again turned to the papers, selected the letter, looked over it, and hastily put it down with a shiver. "Let them but confirm it, and then——O, my father! wert thou here it would be the same, and your son will not flinch from the necessity, be it what it may."
As yet the King's thoughts had admitted nothing definitely; the blow had been too sudden, the provocation too great, for aught but a numbness of perception which checked conclusive determination; but this was passing away fast, and it was becoming still more apparent that, if Khan Mahomed's plan had succeeded, he must, if he survived it, be the dependent of his own slave and his father's. Were the other letters, which they had looked over hastily, true also? Men's tongues had before been busy with the Wuzeer's reputation, and now were so again—the same subject and the same man; and it was—"true, true!"
Unconsciously he had spoken aloud in his reverie, and the word seemed to come as if an echo of his own thought.
"Who spoke?" he cried, looking round—"Who spoke?" His very question seemed to make the silence more impressive; and, as he strained his eyes into the gloom of the chamber, there was no sound but the gentle sough of the night wind, laden with moisture, among the trees below and the open latticework of the windows. "The spirits of the dead are around me to-night," he continued to himself, shuddering. "Listen, O father! Listen, sweet mother! O Prophet of God, on whom be peace, assist and hear me! O thoufountain and dispenser of justice, make me true and bold; make me, as I should be, thy agent among thy people. If I have been a child till now, forgive me—that is past.... He writes to the Emperor, that I am a boy!—that I am a boy! Inshalla! No! that is past!" As he spoke, the sound of voices below, and of footsteps ascending the narrow stair were distinctly audible, and he paused to listen. "It is they at last, and the Meerza has not delayed. Enter," he cried, as the steps appeared to reach the landing-place and doorway—"enter, I am here."
The heavy quilted curtain was pushed aside, and three persons advanced—one the Meerza or secretary we have before mentioned; the other two we have not yet seen; but they had been often employed as confidential advisers by the King, and he had now sent for them. When they returned from the temple, the King and his secretary had examined the papers they had obtained, with great care and anxiety, and they proved to be far more voluminous and important than even our friend the Lalla had imagined.
The dates of the letters extended over several years. Some, of later date, within the year, had evidently been sent secretly, for they were rolled up into the smallest possible compass, in lead, and so that they could be put into the mouth, or otherwise hidden; the handwriting was disguised, and several were written in cypher; but the most recent were not disguised at all, and the seals were perfect. The whole formed a series, and they had hastily put them together. Each letter confirmed the other, or seemed to do so, and yet, considering the issue at stake, neither cared to trust their own judgment: and the papers needed confirmation, as well of their authenticity as of their reference to former occurrences and dates.
Of the Mahratta documents, however, they could form no opinion, as neither could read the character; but the secretary was familiar with the seal, and even the rude signature, of Sivaji Bhóslay; and these letters might throw some light on the subject of reputed intrigues with the Emperor, and prove a guide to future proceedings.
The two persons who had been summoned so hastily to the night council were, in the first place, Peer Dustageer Khaderi, a holy Syud, or descendant of the Prophet, of the purest lineage, and the head of a religious house or establishment of Durwaysh, or, as we familiarly call them, "Dervishes," which had been largely endowed by the State, and for whose ancestors, buried in the precincts of the shrine, miracles were now becoming ostensibly claimed. As a consequence, the holy influence of the "Peer" was decidedly on the increase; and as he had been chosen as religious instructor to the King, he was at that time his "Moorshid," or spiritual guide; and being a shrewd, well-educated person, possessed of deep local experience, and, from his position, able to obtain information of a trustworthynature, he was frequently consulted. To give him due credit, the Peer had proved, on more than one occasion, to have rendered valuable service. Him, therefore, had the King named as the person best fitted to be intrusted with the secret they had obtained.
The other was an old Brahmun, who entered leaning upon a long stick with a gold head, yet not so as to evince weakness, and was as remarkable in his degree as the person whom he accompanied. Neelkunt Rai Pansay, in the outset of his life a humble Karkoon, or clerk, in the revenue department of the State, had served, in succession, three generations of its kings, and, at upwards of eighty years old, was still clear-headed, astute, and faithful. He had risen to the rank of "Peshcar," or finance minister, by his valuable services in that department; and though an "infidel," as he was termed by the Peer, was beloved and respected, and consulted on occasions of more than ordinary solemnity or embarrassment, more particularly in regard to the affairs of his own people, the Hindus of the kingdom.
While the secretary advanced to the King, the others stood at the further end of the apartment. Neither knew why they had been summoned, and the hour of the night, the, to them, strange fact of being together in the most private apartment of the palace, and in the King's presence, caused them to look at each other wonderingly.
These were not persons who could ever unite in private friendship; for the Peer, a bigoted follower of Mahomed, and a holy saint to boot, was one of those who, as warriors of the faith, would have led armies against the infidels, and utterly exterminated them. That king of Gulburgah, Feroze Shah, was in his eyes a true Moslem, and now surely enjoying Paradise, who, in pursuance of his vow, had slain a hundred thousand of the infidels of Beejanuggur, and made pyramids of their heads at the gate of his city. If the kings of Beejapoor had been such it would have been well; but, alas! in his eyes they were degenerate. Here was a proof: the infidel minister sent for to confer with him! the Syud! "Astagh-fur-Ulla!" (God forbid it!) gurgled in his throat, and he edged away and gathered up his garments with a gesture decidedly contemptuous.
This did not escape the old Brahmin's notice, but it was no time to resent it, for they were called forward. A word from the secretary had decided the King to have the Mahratta letters first examined. Aroused from his sleep, and in the presence of a Brahmun, the Syud was not likely to discuss any matter temperately with one; nor, indeed, in a subject in which Mahomedan honour was involved, was it politic, perhaps, to reveal particulars to a Hindu; but the fact or otherwise of Sivaji Bhóslay's attachment or treachery so affected the Wuzeer's position, that it could not be concealed from one who, whatever his faults of religious arrogance might be, was at least a firm friend of the young King and of his government.
"Salaam-o-alykoom! Khoosh amudeed! (you are welcome)," said the King, using the Persian salutation to the Syud, and rising as he advanced.
"Salaam-o-alyk!" returned the holy man, advancing, as was his wont, in a peculiar but characteristic manner; that is, he bent his head forward, so as to assume a stoop which might be supposed reverential, but which was, in fact, patronising in the extreme; stretching forth his arms in an attitude of benediction, and, having set his feet nearly at right angles, he shuffled with short steps towards the edge of the carpet on which was the King's seat. "My lord's health is sound, and his brain is clear?"
"I am well," returned the King; "be seated."
The Peer looked for a place as near the King as possible, and, with another wave of his hands, settled himself upon his heels with two motions—first, to drop on his knees, and second, to subside upon his heels, very much after the fashion of a camel when it is to be loaded. This done, he joined his hands together, and smiling blandly, again ventured to ask whether "My lord and prince were well."
"By your favour and the mercy of God," replied the King, "I am well."
"Ul-humd-ul-illa! (Praise be to God!) Shookr! shookr! (thanks, thanks!)" ejaculated the Peer devoutly, as he settled himself more comfortably; then, taking his rosary from his waist, began to tell his beads with great rapidity, as the old Brahmun, following to the edge of the carpet, and making a humble and reverential salutation, stood awaiting the King's pleasure.
"Be seated, Neelkunt Rai," said the King kindly; and as the old man stooped to the ground, supporting himself by his stick, the secretary compassionately put his hand under his arm, and let him down gently. The scowl from the Peer at this unwonted act of courtesy was lost upon the secretary, but not upon the old man himself; nor was his look of thanks to the person who had assisted him unremarked by the Syud. "I will watch them," he said inwardly: "these two seem to understand each other."
The King spoke first, breaking a silence which, though only lasting for a few moments, seemed interminably oppressive.
"I have called you, Neelkunt Rai," he said, "to examine and read to me some papers which have come into my possession. There is no one about me from whom I can expect more true fidelity thanfrom you in a delicate matter. Give him the papers, Meerza; they are before you."
"May my lord's favour and condescension increase," returned the old man, bowing humbly. "I have never deceived the State, and am too old to begin; and as the grandson is now, so were the father and grandfather always towards me; true confidence is rarely disappointed."
The King sighed. "Alas," he said, "would it were so! Read and judge for yourself."
Neelkunt Rai took the papers, cast his eyes over a few lines, put them down, fumbled in his pockets for his spectacles, which finally were found in a fold of his turban, put them on, and looked first at the end of the paper.
"The letters are from Sivaji Bhóslay, my lord. Doubtless some renewal of his former excesses, and his usual apologies for them. Shall I read them."
"If that were all, Neelkunt Rai, we could forgive them," replied the King; "but read; we may perhaps be in error about them, though truly our vassal grows in power, and heeds not warnings or advice."
"It is only a few months since he took the four forts," interposed the Meerza, "and the letters given to Afzool Khan mention that he is repairing and putting grain into them, and that Pertâbgurh, where he lives, is now impregnable, and that——"
"Let him read, Meerza Sahib," said the Peer ironically: "one so high in the favour of the King should not be interrupted;" and he stroked his beard gently with one hand, while the beads of his rosary passed rapidly through the fingers of the other, and his lips repeated the particular invocation of the divinity which suited every bead. "Let him read; my lord is already listening."
Neelkunt Rai proceeded. He had been deceived by the address, which was that usually written to his own sovereign, and had read the letter through unsuspiciously; but as its purport became evident, it was clear, by his change of countenance, that this was no ordinary communication, and after a while he stopped suddenly.
"It is not fit for my lord to hear," he said excitedly. "This is treason!"
"Be not afraid, Neelkunt Rai, we would know the worst," replied the King.
"Yes, my lord should know who are true and who are false," added the Peer, pompously. "It is true wisdom!"
"As you will," returned the old man, bowing to the King, and not noticing the Peer; "your servant is not responsible for what is written, and you must be patient with it;" and he read and translated as he went on.
There could be no doubt that the treason was unmasked and unconcealed. The wrongs of his father, wrote Sivaji, who for four years had been imprisoned in the dungeon of the citadel of Beejapoor, near the gate, called for revenge; the wrongs of the people, suffering under endless local oppression and exaction, called for redress, which it was hopeless to expect at the hands of a boy, priest-ridden and under the domination of bigoted and ignorant ministers. The conclusion was characteristic of the writer. All he desired was confirmation of his ancestral rights, and permission to serve, with his forces, in the imperial interest.
Letter after letter was read, all much to the same purpose; those of the latter dates being more particular, perhaps, than the former.
"Enough," cried the King at last, "we are weary of these details. What dost thou think, Neelkunt Rai?"
"My lord," said the old man, joining his hands, "mine are not the words of flattery; nor is my advice given without reason. I cannot control men's tongues, nor can I hinder the actions of such as Sivaji Bhóslay; nor yet am I a soldier, to estimate whether his means are proportionate to the end he proposes to attain. If I may speak, I will do so truly, and as one who is near death now; but my lord must not be offended, else I am silent."
"Be careful, and do not transgress the bounds of propriety and respect," said the priest.
"Let him speak as he will, Syud," cried the King, hastily; "do not interrupt him. Fear not, Neelkunt Rai."
"I fear no one, because I have no reason to do so," returned the old man simply, and looking steadily at the priest. "What I have to say is this: the disaffection of Sivaji Bhóslay may spread, but it has not yet become dangerous. That it will be so, if not checked, there is no doubt, for the whole Mahratta people are with him; and there are many signs among them that he will be great——"
"That he will be great?" echoed the King.
"My lord," interrupted the Syud, "I know all about that. Some of my disciples who live at a distance, have come to me from time to time lately, and told me of the damnable doings of the infidels; and how this Sivaji is supposed to have revelations from their gods; but they are but stones—they are but stones, and gold and silver. Now, what saith the blessed Prophet, on whom be peace, about such infidels?"
"Spare us, good Syud," returned the King, interrupting him gently, "we know the passages; but God hath seen fit to give our house subjects of this faith; and they are all our children—they—as well as the true believers. We can see no difference."
"Astagh-fur-oolla! No difference!" cried the Syud. "Is it not written in the holy book, how they shall be burned in the fires ofhell, and thou sayest there is no difference! Some one hath surely bewitched thee with sorcery, my son, and I will say exorcisms for thee—and——"
"Enough," returned the King, coldly; "we have not time to waste in discussion on such matters now. Proceed, Neelkunt Rai."
"The Syud is a holy man," said the old minister, "and he and his house are venerated, and he should be merciful and considerate to all; but as he, too, hath heard the rumours in regard to Sivaji, my lord will believe them. And it would be well not to disregard them entirely. A people's enthusiasm is not to be trifled with."
"There is but one cure for it, if they are infidels, and that is the sword," murmured the Syud. "What saith——"
"We cannot suffer these interruptions," interposed the King, haughtily.
"Peace, Meer Sahib," whispered the Meerza, laying his hand on the other's arm, as he was about to rise. "Peace, and be still. In what will come afterwards we have need of thee—much need; be still."
"My prince," said Neelkunt Rai, endeavouring to rise, "I have done what was needed, and beg leave to depart in peace. My King knows the worst. What his servant would advise will not now be listened to, were he even to speak."
"Say on," cried the King, interrupting him; "thou hast a right to speak. Say on; we will not prevent thee."
"But he will," returned the Karkoon, pointing to the Syud.
"If he speaks no irreverence against the people of the true faith, he may talk till morning," said the Syud, with a wave of the hand. "I shall be dumb and deaf."
"I have little to represent, my lord," replied the old man. "It is hard to say whether rebellion such as this, should be crushed or forgiven. If I should advise the former, can it be done? If the latter, I maybe suspected of partiality. Ah, my prince, if you gird up your loins to fight Sivaji, it will but be trying to grasp the wind; and your best troops will be taken into his mountains, leaving their places empty for the Moghuls to occupy, and that were a dangerous risk. No! send your royal 'kowl' to the Bhóslay—invite him here—ennoble him—treat him as your ancestors treated the Beyder chief of Suggur, and you will secure him. If a time of trial should ever come, which may the gods avert, the old Brahmun's words and cautions for the adoption of a merciful policy will not be forgotten. May I depart?"
"Yes, you have permission to depart, Neelkunt Rai," said the King, interrupting the Syud, who was about to speak angrily. "It is even as we suspected in regard to those letters, and the Bhóslay's treachery to the State. We would ask one thing more:—what force hath Sivaji in reality?"
"My prince," returned the Brahmun, rising and leaning on his staff, "what shall I say? Have you no reports? Were not letters given to Afzool Khan to read? Ask him; he knows that country better than I do—far better. Ask the Syud what his disciples tell him."
"No, no; I will have your opinion," interrupted the King. "Speak! what do your people, the Brahmuns, say about it?"
"May I be forgiven, my lord, if it prove untrue. Yet I will speak as I hear," replied the old man. "My prince knows that I am not of this country, nor of this people; I have no interest in them except as Hindus; but you may be assured there is not a Mahratta breathing who will not follow Sivaji, and the divine call he is believed to have received. No man who can wield a sword or carry a gun, or who has a horse to ride, that will not go to the places of meeting when—'the fire is on the hills.' How many there may be, the gods only know! Lakhs! lakhs! who can count them? Beware of them, my prince, and secure their chief ere it be too late."
"What has passed here is secret, Neelkunt Rai," said the King. "Thou mayst go; we will send for thee again in this matter ere it be concluded," and with a deep reverence to the King, and salutations to the others, the old man retreated a few paces backwards, then turned, and passed out of the chamber.
"Blessed be God and the Prophet!" exclaimed the Syud when he was gone. "The air was defiled by his breath! Ul-humd-ul-illa! a Kafir and a traitor, may he——"
"Peace, Meer Sahib, we have dismissed him, and that is enough," said the King. "Our father, on whose memory be peace, trusted him, and so did his father,—so also do we."
"As my prince pleases," returned the holy man, with a humble gesture, and checking the volley of curses he had prepared to hurl after the old Brahmun. "In this matter it seemed to me that his counsel was cowardly and dangerous. How say you, Meerza? Was Feroze Shah afraid of infidels when he and his true believers slew them by lakhs, and the pyramids of heads stood by the gates of Gulburgah? And is our prince less than he was, or are these Mahratta Kafirs more powerful than those of Beejanugger? Speak, man!"
"My opinion would be little worth," said the secretary, "even did my lord desire it, and there are others more capable of judging of the power of this Mahratta robber than I am. What you have to advise our master upon is another matter, Syud."
"Explain it to him, Meerza," said the King, sadly: "I am sick of treachery, which seems to be closing round me like a net on all sides."
"God and the Prophet forbid!" exclaimed both in a breath. "Treachery known, is soon disposed of. That which sits crouching in hidden places is alone to be dreaded," continued the Syud. "Ere I hear the detail, I have my fears."
"Nay, read thyself and judge," said the King. "Give him the letters, Meerza."
"I have compared the seals," said the secretary, "with those letters recently received by the King, and the writing also. Judge for yourself before you read."
The Syud obeyed. He examined and compared the seals, the superscription, and the paper of all, with much care and evident interest, as expressed in various ejaculations of wonder, and appeals to the divinity under various appellations suited to the circumstances, which may be spared. "No doubt, no doubt," he said, after the scrutiny had been concluded, "no doubt of these, nor of the superscription. They only confirm what hath long been in men's mouths, yet was undetected."
"Read," said the King. "Satisfy yourself."
"It is finished, my lord," said the Syud, looking up, after an examination of the papers which had appeared interminable, and as he spoke, the cry of the Muezzin of the Royal Mosque arose in the invitation to morning prayer, sonorous and musical, "Alla hu Akbur! Alla hu Akbur!" "It is finished," he continued, "and it is the will of Alla that morning prayer should come with the last words. Come, my lord, let us do this service, and ask a blessing on our deliberation. Come to the terrace in the fresh morning air."
We need not follow them. As they returned and seated themselves again by the oriel window, the first blush of dawn was stealing over the sky, paling the stars, and the gentle breeze of morning rustled softly among the leaves of the gardens below. The ceremony he had performed, the ablution, and the air of the terrace outside to which they had adjourned, had refreshed the King after this weary night.
"Speak, Syud," he said, as they resumed their seats. "What is it to be?"
"I need not, my lord," replied the Syud. "What Alla hath put into thy heart I now see in thine eyes, and so be it! Ameen! ameen! ameen! It is his destiny. He is not fit to live; let him die, perjured and faithless as he is. My lord, he had sworn on the holy book to me to be true. He had touched my feet and my neck as witness to his oath. Yet see, since then, nay, within a few weeks, this letter—worst of all—was written. But O, my prince! there must be no mistake. Even at the last, let not the blood of a guiltless man be on our heads."
The Syud's resolution had wavered for a moment, but was rallied by the secretary as the King shook his head, but did not reply.
"Meer Sahib," he said, "we have had the same doubts, my lord and I. Considering how we obtained the letters, can there be uncertainty?"
"God forbid!" replied the Syud—"God forbid! it is enough. I see in this revelation the hand of the All-wise, and we, his creatures, should not resist His destinies and His justice. We cannot do so even if we wished," and he bowed his head reverently over his beads. "Hark! what is that?"
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga! Ulla dilâyâ to léonga! (If God give I will take! If God give I will take)" was suddenly shouted in an outer court of the palace by a powerful voice, and interrupted the priest for a moment.
"Listen!" he continued, grasping the Meerza's arm. "What is that cry, so strange, and so early?"
"It is but one of the city beggars," said the King, looking across to his secretary with a peculiar glance of intelligence, "who perhaps has not slept off his night's potions. One of thine own disciples, perhaps, Huzrut."
"I will go and listen," said the secretary, rising; and he proceeded to the terrace where the morning prayer had been performed.
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" arose in clear deep tones, now unchecked by the heavy quilted curtain of the royal chamber. It was a common form of cry of fakeers or other beggars; but there was something in the rough tone of the voice which seemed to strike familiarly upon the Meerza's ear.
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!"
The last cry was followed by a remonstrance from the soldiers below, who, belonging to the guard of the private apartments, had evidently stopped the intruder.
"Gently, O Syn," cried one; "what dost thou here so early? Do not bawl so loud, friend, else they will be awakened up yonder, and thou wilt be whipped and put in the stocks. Come and sit here, and rest thyself if thou wilt."
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" was the only reply.
"Nay, but thou canst not enter here, Syn. This is the private court of the Hareem, and thou must be silent," continued the soldier.
"Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!"
"The fellow is mad or drunk. Here, Jemadar," cried another voice; "what is to be done with this Fakeer?"
"Who can this be?" thought the Meerza. "This is no common cry. I must see the worthy Syud out, and get speech of the crier."
"Ulla dilâyâ——"
The Fakeer's cry was broken off abruptly, and there was a noiseas if of a scuffle below. Could it be any one in the Wuzeer's interest, seeking for information, or perhaps with deadly intent. "Ho there!" cried the secretary; "what noise is that so early, disturbing the King?"
"Some drunken Fakeer, my lord," returned one of the guards, looking up, "who has intruded, God knows how."
"Keep him, and I will come down presently," answered the Meerza, not waiting for the reply, but re-entering the chamber.
"Some Fakeer, my lord," he continued to the King, but answering his look of intelligence, "whom I have ordered to be confined till the Darogah of the palace can deal with him for his insolence."
"If he be one of my men come after me," said the Syud, "he shall be punished. And now, my lord, have I permission to depart? Delay not in this matter; and may God give you a safe deliverance from a traitor!"
"You may go, Meer Sahib," said the King; "and we thank you for this visit; but shall need you at noon."
"Your servant will be present without fail," returned the Syud, humbly. "Would that his power were equal to his devotion in the King's service!"
"Return directly," said the King, in a whisper, to his secretary, as the holy man waddled slowly to the door. "I know who it is; bring him hither at once. Hast thou forgotten the Jogi of the temple?"
"Hither? that fearful man!"
"Yes, and at once—any excuse—say he does exorcism—anything."
The secretary hesitated.
"At once," continued the King, positively, "and without fail. I feared him not then, when I was in his power and helpless, neither do I now. Go, take this with thee," and he slipped his signet ring into the Meerza's hand.
"I will have him searched at any rate," thought the Meerza, as he descended the narrow stair. "Take care, Meer Sahib, the light is uncertain. Ah, here we are. Who is that, Abdulla, that was crying out?" he said to a eunuch, who, with others, kept guard at the foot of the stairs.
"I know not, my lord. He is some drunken Fakeer, no doubt; and they have tied him up, I hear."
"He may be wanted above," whispered the Meerza. "Let him follow me, and without notice or hindrance. Some exorcism is needed—you understand—within——"
The man stared, and only bowed assent over his crossed arms. "Who dared question royal secrets?"
"Coming, Meer Sahib; I only looked for my shoes," cried the Meerza to his companion, who had advanced a few paces.
Hearing the secretary's voice, several persons emerged from the guard-room, holding the Fakeer tightly. His face was distinctly seen in the morning light, and there could be no mistake.
"He is not one of my children," said the Syud, blandly, looking at the man, and seating himself in his palankeen, which had been brought up; "some drunken brawler, no doubt, who deserves a whipping. Send him to the Kótwal, my sons. I am departing, Meerza Sahib."
"Khôda Hafiz! (God be with you!)" returned the secretary. "At noon, you remember!"
"Of course, Meerza Sahib, the royal commands are on my head and eyes. Go on, my sons," and the bearers shuffled along at their usual pace.
"Shookr Oolla! (thank God!)" ejaculated the secretary, who had doubts of the priest, as he had of most others. "Who art thou, fellow?" he added to the prisoner.
"Bid them loose me," said Pahar Singh, for it was he, "and I will tell thee. Hast thou forgotten so quickly?"
"My lord," said one of the soldiers, "let us turn him out into the town."
"How he got in here," added another, "no one knows; yet he is not drunk, and he has done no harm beyond bawling and struggling. He has the strength of a fiend."
"Loose him, my friends; he is an exorcist, and there has been some trouble within," replied the secretary. "I must take him into the presence. He has no arms? Behold the royal seal."
"I have the amulet which shall restore health to the sick," growled the pretended Fakeer; "it is sorely needed, and time presses. The planetary conjunction is passing."
"Come, Syn; I will lead thee in," said the secretary, taking his hand.
"He has no weapons—we searched him well; but he will answer no questions," said several men, speaking together.
"Ah, my friends," replied the secretary, gravely, "those who cast out evil spirits are not to be questioned. Come, Syn, follow me."
The men shrugged their shoulders incredulously. What could it mean? To all except the Meerza the entry of such a character to the private apartments at any hour would have been impossible—but now, and under the King's seal? How had he entered the citadel? The guard at the gate had not seen him pass; and this mystery, with the fact of his having been expected, furnished plentiful cause of speculation to those who had seized him.
"What is it?" asked the Meerza anxiously, as they passed into the inner court. "Why hast thou come, Pahar Singh, thus early?"
"Is he above—Ali Adil Shah?" asked the robber; "what I have to say is for him alone. And thou hast recognized me, O Meerza?"
"He is," replied the Meerza; "follow me and be silent. I will tell him. Yes, I knew thee, and he trusts thee."
The eunuchs of the lower guard bowed their heads on their folded arms as the two men passed and ascended the stair together. When they reached the terrace, the Meerza stepped on and drew aside the curtain.
"He is come, my lord," he said in a low tone—"he—the robber."
"I thought so," replied the King; "bring him in."
As Pahar Singh entered, the light of the lamp shone full on him, and revealed a haggard anxious face; his large eyes were gleaming wildly from among the heavy masses of his matted hair, now hanging about his shoulders; but the disguise as a Mahomedan mendicant was as complete as that of the Hindu Jogi had been. He made no lowly reverence, but advanced boldly—defiantly, as it were—to the edge of the carpet, and the King involuntarily grasped the hilt of the short sword lying beside him.
"The King might kill me," said the man, observing the action; "a word, and the head of Pahar Singh is struck from his body by those eunuchs yonder. There is no escape hence—is it not so? Yet I have trusted thee, O King, and do not fear thee, even as thou didst not fear me. I am here, true to thy salt; and what I have to tell thee is as true as I am."
"Fear not," said the King, "and speak freely; thou art safe here."
"Does he know all?" asked the robber, pointing to the Meerza.
"All, friend. Was he not with me, and are not these the letters?" returned the King. "Else——"
"I believe thee, Adil Khan," said Pahar Singh. "Now, listen: time is short, and much has to be done ere thou art safe."
The King started. "Safe?" he cried.
"Ay, safe, my lord. Khan Mahomed was at Almella yesterday, and is on his way hither now. He will be here about the third watch of the day, or sooner. What brings him, think you?" said Pahar Singh, rapidly.
"I sent him a letter of assurance, and he believes it," said the King.
"Believes it, King? He?" exclaimed the man derisively. "He? Thou art but a simple boy to think so. No, he has understood it rightly, and in reply has brought some hundreds of my men withhim. What for?—it is in thine eyes to ask—what for? I will tell thee. Ah! thy heart tells thee now: there is no need for me to speak."
"Then his designs are evil, friend," said the King, with a slight shudder.
"King! without that letter he was not to be trusted. After he received it he knew his fate," returned Pahar Singh. "We—I—have an evil reputation, they say: and he believed I would do anything for money. He sent an express messenger for me from Nuldroog. I had come here with those letters, but my son went. Money was offered to him: rank—an estate—whatever he pleased. Money? yea, much money. A lakh of rupees—more. Why? thou already knowest. Yes—to kill thee, O Adil Khan, thou wert not to live over to-day. My son pleaded fatigue and my absence—time also to collect the men. That is why Khan Mahomed did not arrive yesterday. That is why he is at Almella now. My son is shrewd and wise—he secured all he could of the Wuzeer's money; and then—ah, blessed boy!—he rode on to meet me last night. Ha, ha! they thought he had gone to Itga to hurry on the men; but he is a good youth—he knew what to do. A gallant horse is that which that Lalla left with us; thy life was on its feet, O Prince! and my boy was in sore temptation. So he reached me last night, just as I had gained my hiding-place, of which he knew. Ah, I was sick at heart, for my brother was dead——"
"Dead!" cried the secretary; "God forbid! he was with thee, and well."
"Ay, dead, Meerza," continued Pahar Singh. "Yes, murdered—perish the cowardly hand that struck the blow in the dark. We were attacked by robbers, who had watched us, and he was struck down in the fight. I went for assistance to carry him, and when I returned he was dead, and a knife-wound in his heart. Enough, master," continued Pahar Singh, dashing his hand roughly across his eyes. "He died in thy service. Enough for him."
"And then?" asked the King.
"My son had consented to do the work; and that slave, the Wuzeer, believed him. The boy told me he pretended to hate the King, and that there was a death feud between our house and thine, Adil Khan—was it not good? O, he is a clever youth that. It was he who got those letters, too: and now he has received money from the slave. Enough! Speak, O King. Is the slave to be delivered into thy hand alive, or wilt thou give him to me—to me, Pahar Singh? Dost thou doubt me? I ask no money—no reward from thee. Thy house—thy very life—is in peril: Pahar Singh can save both, and ask nothing but to be held true to his master's salt. Nay, do not interrupt me," he continued, wavinghis hand, while he wiped away the foam which, in his excitement, had gathered on his lips. "Think, Adil Khan, was thy royal house ever so threatened before? Hath not the Wuzeer prepared the enemy to make his last swoop upon thee, even as a falcon on a hare; and wert thou dead, with no son to rally men around him, and Khan Mahomed holding the power,—could thy kingdom be preserved? Are the Moghuls idle? Is Sivaji Bhóslay indifferent? Above all, could thy royal armies have saved thee had I been a traitor?"
"Come hither," cried Adil Shah, from whose eyes the tears were welling fast as he thought upon his defenceless state, the deep treachery which had been meditated, and the rough earnest devotion of this strange man. "Come hither: let me put my hand on thy head."
Pahar Singh advanced. The squalid mendicant covered with rags—to all appearance what he seemed, so complete was the disguise—trod boldly upon the royal bed of satin and velvet; but he bowed his head to meet the hand which the King extended and laid upon it gently.
"As thou wilt, true servant," said the King, "for there is a stern and fearful necessity to be encountered. Whatever reward thou mayst claim hereafter is freely bestowed upon thee—all thou hast ever done against me or my people is forgiven. Take that slave for thine own if thou wilt, to deal with as it seemeth good to thee."
"Remember," cried Pahar Singh, seizing the King's hand and detaining it upon his head, "these words cannot be revoked. Whatever happens, I do but thy bidding, O King; and, only for the need for thee to know it, I had done the same even though I had not seen thee. Now I go, whither ye cannot trace me, but ye will hear of me ere the day is past."
"Go," replied the King. "I have no fear of thee or of thine acts. Alla and the Prophet direct and keep thee, O true friend, whom he hath sent me in my need. Go!"
"Only be careful," continued the man, withdrawing the King's hand from his head, kissing it reverently, and then releasing it—"only be careful! Stir not beyond the fort till the news comes to thee. The guards on the gates and within are of the true party, and thou art safe with them. Care not for revolt; the Wuzeer brings no men with him but my own. My son prevented those he brought from coming on, and they returned to Nuldroog from Almella. None of his party here dare stir. Yet, if there be any movement, send for Afzool Khan and his son Fazil; they are my bitter enemies, but they are true to thee. Nay more, the Wuzeer's son is not with his father in this matter, and is true to thee,O King, because of the young Fazil. And now I go. Send me beyond the gate, for I must not depart as I came."
"I am ready to go," said the secretary. "They were marvelling at thy sudden appearance. How was it?"
"I may tell thee some time or other," returned Pahar Singh, smiling; "but come, it is almost day. Yet, ere I depart, my lord, I would kiss thy feet. The reverence I once paid thy father, the noble Sultan Mahmood, I would pay to thee." And so saying, he prostrated himself, embracing the King's feet, and kissing them respectfully.
"Would thou wert a true believer, and thou wouldst be as a brother. O, that I could reward thee adequately," said the King, with much emotion.
"I am better as I am—free," returned Pahar Singh. "When I have earned reward, Adil Khan, I may ask it if I live; and if I die, remember there was one true heart among thy people, and protect my Gopal—my son. Let us not speak of reward; there is nothing now between us but true faith, as thou art witness, O Meerza, and that faith was never yet given for gold."
So saying, he turned and passed rapidly through the curtain, followed by the secretary.
Was there any doubt in the young King's mind now? None; all was clear. There was no thought of mercy—none of receding from determination. There could be no question of Pahar Singh's story, else why had he, outlaw and robber as he was, trusted himself in the very palace? There was no appearance about that strange man which could lead to a suspicion of deceit, and his grim devotion in this emergency affected the King deeply. Even if Pahar Singh failed, the course was clear. The Wuzeer must be confronted with the silent witnesses of his treachery; and in Afzool Khan and a score of other trusty adherents, the King felt he had ample protection.
No; it was no deception. After a short interval of silence, the Fakeer's cry, "Ulla dilâyâ to léonga!" again arose more sonorously, more confidently than before, and the King, stepping out on the terrace, listened, speculating how far the man might be gone on his deadly errand, and what would come of it, so absorbedly, that the secretary's footsteps, as he ascended the stair, were not heard, and the King started as he spoke once more.
"He is gone, my lord, on his work. I saw him pass beyond the gate."
"Did he say aught?"
"Nothing—he did not speak again. As he passed out of the court he shouted his cry, and continued it, walking rapidly till he was beyond the bridge of the ditch. Many of the men saluted him, and some offered alms, but he answered no one, and, still shouting,pressed on so quickly that I could hardly follow. When I last saw him, he had turned by the 'Goruk Imlee' tree, and was running fast; and so God speed him!"
"Ameen!" sighed the King. "Thou must not leave me to-day, Anwur Ali. Order a Durbar at noon, and there will we await the end. He or I, Meerza, whichever God wills; but it shall not be said of Adil Khan that he shrank from his fate into his zenana. Go; sleep there on my cushions for a while; we both need rest," and by another doorway, the King passed to the inner apartments.
The day wore on; and it may be imagined that the anxieties of the lady Lurlee and the fair Zyna were not diminished by the continued absence of the Khan and his son. As the former had left his wife, he had requested her to have a "kichéri" of a particular kind, with kabobs, prepared for him when he arrived. "He should be hungry," he said, "after his ride so early, and Fazil too. It was a soldier's dish, and would put him in mind of old days in the field, and—Lurlee could dress it so capitally." We may remember a slight bandying of words between the Khan and his lady before he went out; and he had ordered this dish as a propitiatory meal at her hands, for he knew by experience that the result would be satisfactory: the little acerbity would disappear, and the planets, perhaps, would be forgotten.
Nothing could have been devised more soothing to the lady Lurlee's temper—nothing more certain of dispelling any clouds of dissatisfaction or disappointment—than this appeal to her affections through her kitchen. Even in these intellectual days, a similar result is not unfrequently attainable; proving that the motives and springs of poor human nature, and its tempers, show but little difference at the time of our history and among ourselves; and did we permit ourselves to moralize after the fashion of the day, we might possibly deliver a pretty lecture upon the subject.
But—and we may as well avow it once for all—we feel ourselves bound to relate our story without any moralizing digressions whatever, further than what may form part of its action; and therefore we will not follow the changes of the lady's mind, from its first expectant and interested condition after the mixing of the materials by her own fair hands (for on such occasions she suffered no one to interfere), to the setting them on the fire to be done exactly as her lord wished. With the Khan's loving order, had come a flood of pleasant memories to her—of old camp days, hard fights too, in whichher lord—safe, generally victorious, and restored to her prayers—found his wife busy with some favourite dish; and they loved each other, in a homely fashion, better for the cooking and the eating of it.
Now, as the lady sat over her private brazier, on which were her own silver cooking-vessels, the Khan's special gift, she told Zyna of many an old time and scene—of many a narrow escape—many a rough march which she had shared with the old soldier, and done her part in binding up his wounds if he were hurt, or cooking for him if he were hungry.
"Your mother was not of our rough Dekhani sort, daughter," she said; "people tell me she never went out with the army: she was a weak, fragile thing, I have heard, but very beautiful. Peace be with her, for thy father loved her much, and hath never loved me as her. But no children have come, Zyna—no children, that is it,"—and the lady sighed, and perhaps tears gathered in her eyes, for she wiped them hastily with the corner of her muslin scarf. "Well, it is God's will, daughter; and though I could never understand it properly, there was something wrong in the horoscope which they cast when I was betrothed. You see, Zyna, my planet was then Mars, which represented water—no, it was fire;—no, that's a male planet, and so it must have been Earth. Yes, I think it was—Earth; and then he was Venus—no, that could not be either; it must have been Saturn, and that's for air. So you see, fire and air—no, let me see—air and water? no. What did I tell thee, Zyna? Was it Earth?"
"I do not understand it, mother; how can I tell?" said Zyna demurely.
"But you are not listening, girl; ah, wait till your own time comes. I'll warrant you anxious and curious enough to know whether you are fire or earth, or air or water; and whether he is air, or water, or whatever he may be. Now about myself. You see I was fire; no I am wrong. 'Humul,' 'Sowr,' 'Jowza' (Aries, Taurus, Gemini)," continued the lady Lurlee, telling off all the signs of the zodiac, in Arabic, upon the ends of her fingers, and then the planets in succession, "'Mars,' 'Venus,' 'Mercury;' and now look, Zyna, if the house of the Lion is on this middle finger, and the planet Mercury comes to it, you see Mercury is in conjunction with—with the Crab. Did not I say the Crab, child? Now attend, else I shall lose all my reckoning. 'Humul,' 'Sowr'——"
"Alas, mother, but I do not understand it, and I can never remember the names of the planets or their houses,—indeed I cannot," said Zyna, piteously. "But ah, mother, look, it is burning!"
And so it was. In her astrological involvement, Lurlee Khánum had forgotten the kichéri, which, as the bottom of the pan became too hot, sent up a most unsavoury odour, and brown smoke issued from under the lid.
"God forgive me my neglect, daughter," exclaimed the lady, sorrowfully, as she examined the pan: "it is surely quite spoiled, and thy father is so particular. The least idea of burnt kichéri is enough to set him mad, and I could not look at him for a day or more. And he will be expecting this to be all ready." "Protection of the Prophet!" exclaimed the lady suddenly, "there he is. What shall I do?—what shall I do?"
That which had startled Lurlee was the arrival of the Khan's escort, and the beating of their kettle-drums in the outer court; and as she listened, and stood up, ladle in hand, expecting her lord's entrance, she was perhaps relieved by the appearance of Goolab who, as the general outdoor scout, brought tidings from the courtyard of occurrences of all kinds.
"They are not coming, lady," said the nurse. "They are gone to the Kótwal's, and will stay there. That's the news brought by Peer Khan, and a host of them. And there's Bulwunt Rao as good as dead; and he's to be put into the private apartments, and the King's doctor is to be sent for; and I must go and see to a bed for him, and a soft mattress, and pillows and sheets; and then they'll all be spoilt with his blood. His blood, indeed!"
"A blister on thy tongue, O prating woman!" cried Lurlee. "My lord taken to the Kótwal's?Mylord! O Zyna! O girl, what is the world come to? Thy father taken to that man of blood, Jehándar Beg; and those cowards, the Paigah, have come here without him? O girl—what is it? speak, hast thou no sense?"
Indeed, Zyna had very little; the mention of that dreaded name, the certainty that if her father could have returned he would, and the fact of Bulwunt Rao being dangerously wounded, all combined to terrify, and Lurlee herself was no calmer.
"Was there no message, Goolab?" asked Zyna.
"O yes; that the Khan remains at the Kótwal's, and will eat his breakfast there. He has business, and will stay. That is all, and that Meah Sahib is well."
"That is all!" exclaimed Lurlee. "That is all! To have my lord in the Kótwallee, and that dish of kichéri dressed in vain! O woman of little grace that I am! why did I deserve this? what have I done? what have I done?"
"But it was spoiled, mother," said Zyna innocently; "do not care about it. Only thank God they are safe. O, I vow a Fateha——"
"Not care, child? and would it not have been the same had it been, as it was, dressed like food for the Peris? would it not have been the same? Would he have come to eat it? he, thy father? Why order it? why affront me by leaving it here to be spoiled? why did he not come long ago? This is not as it used to be of old. O, Afzool Khan! am I less than dirt in thine eyes? am I—I—I——"
Now, the lady Lurlee, like all other Mahomedan ladies, only mentioned her husband's name on very solemn occasions, or when excitement got the better of discretion; and here was an instance of it. She sat down upon the stool before her brazier, and, after rocking herself to and fro for a while, burst into an uncontrollable fit of sobbing. It was difficult to say, perhaps, what had most particularly affected her; but undoubtedly the burning of the kichéri was at the bottom of all. It had been so good. Then she knew how his face would have expanded under its influence as he ate; it would have reminded him of some old scene, whose history would have come out between the mouthfuls—he might even have caressed her. Ah, all was now gone—her trouble, her expectation of a loving greeting, all gone: and the sense of neglect and indifference under which she habitually existed, had for the time taken its place. But gradually the sobbing was soothed, and Lurlee, laying her head against Zyna's bosom, seemed lost in thought.
"There must be unfavourable conjunctions among the planets to-day, depend upon it, daughter," she said at length, rousing herself, and drying her eyes, "else all this would not have happened. Now, let me look steadily into it: perhaps we may learn something for our guidance."
"Look!" continued the lady after a pause, and a brief examination of an astrological table, which she usually carried about her, "look here. Ah, graceless and unfortunate that I am, I should have foreseen all that has happened, and he should never have gone out at all. Why, here is Saturn in the ascendant till the first watch of the day, and then follows the Sun, and that's what spoilt my cooking. Let me see—Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer," she continued, counting the signs of the zodiac, as before, on her fingers, "Aries, Taurus—why, God be merciful! here follows Mars, and he's an executioner—and they are in the Kótwallee—the Prophet's mercy be on them! Yet, stay, Mars will last for only three hours; then comes, let me see—Mars, Jupiter, Mercury, Moon—no, Venus, Jupiter, Moon. Yes, I am right now, girl. That means messenger, and Venus is propitious. Ah, yes, don't you see it all, Zyna? Don't you understand? Look, first the Moon, that's we ourselves, as messengers; and then Venus will save them, if we can get past Mars. Of course it is quite plain. Don't you see?"
"Alas, no, mother! I do not," said Zyna, innocently. "I see figures and numbers, and angles and signs, but it is hopeless to ask me about them. You are a wise woman, and this is a marvellous science. Surely, and please God, you are right."
"O, I see exactly what to do; and it is well I can pick out a path among these mysteries," cried Lurlee, brightening, "or we had all been lost long ago. But we will eat first; I am sure some of thekichéri is good, and at any rate there are the kabobs, and Jameela will have bread. Come and eat, daughter, it will support thee; come, we have much to do ere noon. I see now, and when thou hast eaten I will tell thee. Jameela! O Jameela!" she cried to the cook, who, when her mistress came to usurp her functions, discreetly kept out of the way. "Jameela, bring some bread and some pickle; we must eat now."
"But you have the kichéri," said the dame. "Surely it is not burnt," she continued, sniffing into the pan with a cook's experienced nose.
"Begone, graceless!" cried Lurlee, who well knew the old woman was rejoicing in her heart over her discomfiture; "begone and get the bread."
"There is none but the men's bread, and it is coarse enough, for the meal was not sifted," returned Jameela. "Whenyoutake to cooking, of course I am not expected to be mindful of other light bread, and such things; but——"
"Begone, and do as you are bid," cried her mistress, sharply. A look from Zyna also, deprecating further discussion, was understood at once by the old dame.
"I will bring the best of it, Khánum," she said, "and there is some quite hot; but I can bake a few of your own 'phoolkas,' if you like; they will be good with the kabobs ... which seem savoury," she continued, craning over to look into the pot on the fire, and sniffing into it.
"Where is Goolab? Ah yes, do so, Jameela, and bring them quickly," replied her mistress; "thou art a jewel."
"I will send her, lady," said the cook, departing; "and I would bring the men's bread, only it is not fit for the likes of ye."
"Now, what is to be done?" asked Zyna. "O mother, thou seemest to understand everything, and art confident, and I am distracted with apprehension. O my father! O my brother! God keep you safe. I vow lights at Peer Sahib's tomb, and to feed a hundred Fakeers there to-morrow, if they be safe!"
"We must go to the palace, and inquire why thy father is detained," replied Lurlee decisively. "Ah, Goolab, where wert thou? But never mind," she continued, as the dame entered. "Lay out clothes for us; we must go to the palace; and bid some one go and say we pray to see the Bégum Sahiba, and order the palankeens and an escort to be ready. Inshalla! daughter, we will see what this evil-minded and base-born Kótwal can do."
"And the jewels, Khánum?" asked Goolab.
"Ah! I had forgotten. Well, a few."
"No, mother, no!" cried Zyna, "not so. With our hearts heavy and sad, it surely is no time to put on jewels. Let us rather go with sober garments, and prostrate ourselves before the Peer's shrine on our way."
"I tell thee the Peer cannot help us," returned the dame tartly; "it is the stars and the Bégum. When they are safe, then do thy Fateha if thou wilt. Come here, eat, for we have much to do. Ah! Jameela-bee;" for Lurlee always added the respectful addition ofbee, for lady,—when she was in good humour, to her cook, who now entered with a tray of hot bread and delicate phoolkas, and a white cloth over her arm: "thou hast been quick, friend."
It must be confessed that the lady Lurlee's appetite, sharpened perhaps by her unusual fast and the process of her own cookery, did ample justice to the meal. Her confidence in the stars sustained her far better than Zyna's faith in her saint—that is, if one might judge by the resolute and satisfied features of the elder face as it bent over its plate, eating heartily, and the distressed, anxious, and tearful expression of the younger, endeavouring almost vainly to eat at all. It was of no avail that Lurlee encouraged her daughter, and even picked out tempting morsels from the kabobs, and set them before her, with the hottest of the phoolkas, as they were sent in short relays from the kitchen.
"Ah, daughter! he would have enjoyed this," said Lurlee, as she washed her hands over the ewer brought her at the conclusion of the meal, and sighed in a manner which plainly signified her regret not to be able to eat more. "Yes, the kabob was good, but thou hast scarcely tasted it; a trifle more pepper would have been better, perhaps; yet it was good. And now, girl, I am ready to face the Kótwal or the Bégum, or—the peace of God be on him—Adil Shah himself. Inshalla! we will see who dares to detain my lord when I, Lurlee Khánum, have cooked his breakfast."