FOOTNOTES:[8]The respectful title of a son—literally, "lord's son."[9]Huzrut Syud Geesoo Duraz—"Prince of the Long Locks"—the name of a celebrated Mahomedan saint, whose tomb at Gulburgah is esteemed the most holy, as the saint is the greatest favourite of all, perhaps, in the Dekhan.[10]Market-place.
[8]The respectful title of a son—literally, "lord's son."
[8]The respectful title of a son—literally, "lord's son."
[9]Huzrut Syud Geesoo Duraz—"Prince of the Long Locks"—the name of a celebrated Mahomedan saint, whose tomb at Gulburgah is esteemed the most holy, as the saint is the greatest favourite of all, perhaps, in the Dekhan.
[9]Huzrut Syud Geesoo Duraz—"Prince of the Long Locks"—the name of a celebrated Mahomedan saint, whose tomb at Gulburgah is esteemed the most holy, as the saint is the greatest favourite of all, perhaps, in the Dekhan.
[10]Market-place.
[10]Market-place.
The young Ashruf ran lightly along before the party, leading them, by narrow lanes and streets familiar to him, direct to the spot where the occurrences of the night had taken place; and under such guidance—for the boy's speed never flagged for a moment—Afzool Khan and his men arrived at the building where Fazil was waiting, almost ere the sun's rays were sparkling upon the tall minarets and domes of the city.
He had looked anxiously for their coming long ere dawn broke; for he had awakened as usual for the morning prayer, in which he was joined by the Duffadar and several other devout members of the guard: and since its conclusion he had been sitting on the step of the guard-room, or watching Bulwunt, who slept heavily but restlessly, and speculating on the reason of his young messenger's delay. Truly cheering was it, therefore, after hearing from a great distance the rapid advance of a body of horsemen borne on the still morning air, to see the well-known band of spearmen, led by the young Ashruf, turn the corner of the street, and immediately following them the tall figure of his father, and with him perhaps fifty of the Paigah.
A few moments served to bring the party to the spot. As his father strove to alight rapidly, Fazil sprang to aid him with a joyful cry; and when the old Khan could disengage himself from hisstirrup, a hearty embrace followed, to the no small wonder of a crowd of neighbours, whom the unexpected appearance of a well-known nobleman and his dashing escort had collected: and who could not understand the warm greeting and embrace between what appeared to be a Hindu beggar, still much besmeared with wood-ashes and paint, and so gallant a cavalier as Afzool Khan.
Led by Fazil into the apartment we have already mentioned, the Khan submitted to be seated upon a carpet; and the room being partially cleared, he proceeded to inquire into the circumstances of his son's detention, and of the fray of which Ashruf had informed him. Upon Bulwunt, the sound of the old Khan's voice acted like a charm. Weakened by loss of blood, he had fallen into a dreamy kind of doze rather than sleep, which the trampling of the horses, and exclamations from their riders as they arrived, had converted into an imaginary battle-field, on which he lay wounded and helpless; but when the well-known voice of his lord was no longer doubtful, he was aroused, and, raising himself feebly, earnestly requested his master to come to him to hear, as he thought them, his last words.
"He is not in fault, my lord," he said faintly, and pointing to Fazil. "They would have made out that he wounded me—may their tongues rot! He will tell you all that happened, and how the enemy of my house, Tannajee Maloosray, has given me my death-blow."
"Not so, brave Bulwunt," said the Khan, cheerfully; "there is no fear of thee, methinks. Thou art weak, and thy sight fails thee; but keep a good heart, friend, thou will strike many a blow yet for Afzool Khan; a few days' rest, and this trouble will be forgotten."
"Has he told you all?" asked Bulwunt.
"Not yet, not yet, friend; but I shall hear it ere long."
"Track him, track him, my lord," continued Bulwunt; "Maloosray cannot be gone far. He is even now in the city, at one of the Mutts or Serais. He could not escape if the gates were watched. He might even be found at——"
But speech suddenly failed the poor fellow, and, exhausted with his effort, he sank back, fainting, on the pillow.
"What did he say, son?" asked the Khan, quickly; "what of Tannajee Maloosray? Him of Pertábgurh—the friend of Sivaji Bhóslay?"
"Even so, father," replied Fazil. "I did not mention him, as there were so many listeners, and the matter was for your private ear; but, as Bulwunt has said it, no matter now. Would that we knew his haunts! Perhaps he knows, but he is too exhausted to speak."
"Tannajee Maloosray here!—in Beejapoor!" exclaimed the Khan, "and hath done this deed! O that we knew where the villain were hiding! Nevertheless, the gates shall be well guarded; that was a good thought of thine, Bulwunt. Ho, without there! One of ye ride to each gate of the city—tell those on guard there, that Maloosray hath been seen within the city last night, and all that pass out are to be well looked to. Do ye hear?"
"Jo Hookum," cried a number of the men who heard the order; and after a brief consultation together, single horsemen dashed away to the several places to which their errands tended.
"And now change thy dress, son," continued his father; "this disguise is hardly seemly to thee. Here is a suit, and there will be water outside."
"If the Duffadar here have no objection," returned the young man. "You forget, father; I am his prisoner of my own free will."
"Chut, chut, boy! thou art no prisoner—be quick," cried the Khan.
"The saints forbid," interposed the Duffadar, "that any one of such exalted faith as the son of Afzool Khan should be ever suspected of being an infidel. When——"
"There, there, Fazil! go!" interrupted the Khan, laughing; "I have no eyes for thee in that abomination; let us see thee in thy proper shape."
"Then follow me, father, into this apartment," replied Fazil; "I have that to say which will not bear witnesses—much that is marvellous."
"That I doubt not, son. I will follow when Bulwunt is cared for; I see they have brought up the palankeen."
So saying, the Khan tried to raise the wounded man, while he spoke cheerily to him. Again, at the sound of his lord's voice, the spirit of the retainer rallied, but it apparently hovered between life and death; for, after another faint attempt to speak, he fell back exhausted.
"It is of no use," muttered the Khan; "he will die, I fear, and we can ill spare him. Ho, without! bearers or spearmen! Come in some of ye. And look ye," he added, as several entered, "take up Bulwunt Rao, carefully, as he lies, by the corners of the blanket; put him into the palankeen, and take him home at your easiest pace. He is to be lodged in the private apartment of the Khilwut. Get a bed from the house, and send for our physician directly, and the surgeon of the palace.... Now, begone."
Carefully and gently the men raised him up, and bore him out. He groaned heavily as he reached the open air, yet it seemed to revive him, for he looked around. Some of his comrades who crowded round spoke cheerily to him, and he recognized them andsmiled. He was at once placed in the litter, and the bearers, at a rapid but easy pace, proceeded homewards.
"I dare not have spoken to thee, my son," said the old Khan, when he had joined Fazil, who was busily engaged washing the ashes from his face, neck, and arms, "before those people, though I was burning to do so. So thou hast really discovered something by the night's adventure. This Tannajee,—what of him? Tell me quickly?"
"Alas! father," returned the young man, sadly, "I know so much, and of such weighty matters, that my soul trembles under them. I would almost that I had not gone out last night, or that other lips than mine had to tell thee a tale of treachery and wrong-doing."
"Son! I see it in thy face. The Wuzeer!" exclaimed the Khan, starting.
"He is false, father—false," continued Fazil.
"Ah, I feared so; but speak, boy, how is it? Who told thee?" cried Afzool Khan, impatiently.
"I need not say more to confirm it than that the King knows it," returned Fazil; "and that he has papers now in his possession which leave no doubt of Khan Mahomed's treachery; Mirza Anwur Ali and the Shah took them last night, and paid for them."
"Ya Alla kureem! and where was this? By the Prophet, tell me, Fazil! My soul eats your words! speak, boy, quickly."
Then Fazil rapidly sketched the scene of which the reader already knows the detail, while the old Khan listened in silent amazement, his forefinger between his teeth.
"Ya Khubeer-o! and hath all this been so easily found out?" he exclaimed. "Ah, Khan Mahomed! often has your poor friend warned you; but in vain. Now you are lost, alas, alas! and for that insane ambition which would not be repressed."
"We must save him, father!" cried Fazil; "he must not perish. At the risk of my own life would I do aught possible to avert the danger which threatens him. What can we do? Implore the King to spare the ancient friend of his house? or write and warn him? Ah, father, you are his most valued friend, and his son is as a brother to me! Speak; what can be done?"
"Alas, I know not yet, son," he replied, sadly; "but tell it again; all, Fazil—all that the King said. I will think it over. Wishing to save, we must not destroy."
Fazil again narrated what he had seen, and, as well as he could remember them, the contents of the letter which the Lalla had repeated. But the Khan thought long and deeply on the whole matter ere he could see his way to action. At last he said to his son—
"What I have determined upon ought to suit both parties. I will go instantly to the King, and try if his purpose as to the Wuzeer can be discovered. I must take the papers he gave me in any case. Do thou, Fazil, go to thy friend—it may be that he knows all; but, if not, he can be warned of the danger. Timely submission may alone avert it; but the peril is fearful."
"Alla is just, and it will be as He wills," returned his son, devoutly; "but we must not forget that Lalla; his presence may be of moment, and it were well he were cared for; his wound was a mere scratch, and he may be able to ride; let us send for him."
So a messenger was despatched to bring him, or to ascertain, at least, whether he could ride; as, if not, a litter would be provided. To the vexation of Fazil, however, and his father, the messenger returned, saying that a litter had already been sent by the Kótwal's orders, about the time of morning prayer, and he had been taken away to that officer.
"Jehándar Beg is faithful," said the old Khan. "He is as true to the King's salt as I am myself, else I should have feared the result; but who can hold the Lalla's tongue?—that is what I dread, Fazil."
"And he did not appear over-discreet either, father," replied Fazil; "however, the best thing we can do is to follow up the information, and go to the Kótwallee; it is my duty, too, to see the worthy old Duffadar safe through the matter, for truly he did what he could."
"True, son," returned Afzool Khan; "and I will accompany thee. Jehándar Beg may not have forgotten some matters in which I have been able to befriend him now and then. No; that Lalla must not slip through our hands, Fazil."
By this time Ashruf had saddled his father's ambling pony, and stood waiting without, so the cavalcade was soon ready. The Khan's men were all mounted, and a few of the Duffadar's guard attended as escort to the kullal, for whom his own pony had been provided, so that there was no delay; and as Fazil and his father stepped from the guard-room, the young man's appearance was the signal for a shout of congratulation from all, which being duly acknowledged, Fazil turned with a smile to the old Duffadar, and told him "his prisoners" were ready.
"If I can but assist ye, noble gentlemen," said the old man, respectfully, "in this matter, it will be a happy thing; and if my son——"
"Bismilla!" exclaimed Afzool Khan, mounting his horse, and interrupting him; "we are no evil-doers, to fear justice. Move forward!"
The building where the Kótwal's morning court was held, was at no very great distance, in the city itself; the other court waswithin the fort, not far from the King's palace; and they proceeded to the former at a rapid pace. By-and-by, as they drew nearer the place of their destination, a horseman dashed on to give notice of the near approach of the Khan, in order that he might be met, and greeted in a manner due to his rank.
"What can bring Afzool Khan, the pious and true, here?" asked one of the under-officers on duty at the entrance guard-room of the outer court. "He is no brawler or intriguer."
"Who knows, Meer Sahib," replied the person addressed. "In these days the world is turning topsy-turvy, and one has to see and believe strange things. There is already a report that the young Khan is in fault, and has wounded the man who was brought in a little while ago upon a bed, and killed another; for a body was found this morning near a temple beyond the fort. I was at the Bazar mosque at early prayer, and they said there it would be a bad business. What matter? Afzool Khan has plenty of cash, and a sharp fine will set all straight."
"I pray it may be no worse, friend," returned the first speaker; "but I have heard Jehándar Beg swear upon the holy book to spare no one if blood hath been shed; and here is one man dead and one wounded to be accounted for. A bad business, friend—a bad business; but we shall see. God grant it may not lead to that!" and he pointed to the corner of the court, where lay a hand in a pool of blood—a ghastly evidence of summary justice on a criminal but just performed. "But we shall see; the Khan is heavily attended, and methinks it would be as well to let him alone."
"Ay, friend, he is one of the old stock, well tried and trusted; the peace of God and the Prophet be upon him and his; and that is a brave boy, 'tis a pity he should be in any trouble. Would we had more of them about the King! Truth is lie, and lie is truth, friend, in these days; and men whisper that Jehándar Beg is no friend to Afzool Khan, nor the Wuzeer either, and they are of the same party; but we shall see. What will be, will be."
Almost as they spoke, the Khan's retinue approached, and, preceded by its band of spearmen, some horsemen, and the party of the old Duffadar, swept round the corner of the adjoining street. Very conspicuous among the cavalcade were the figures of the father and son riding together; the Khan in his morning suit of heavy cloth-of-gold, which glittered richly in the sun; his son, plainly dressed in white muslin.
Fazil rode a led horse of his father's, which he sat with perfectconfidence and control of the fiery animal; but his countenance expressed anxiety which he could not restrain. In truth, he felt, notwithstanding his assurance to his father, that if he were subjected to a strict examination, he should be ill able to account satisfactorily for the various events of the night without compromising others. In regard to Maloosray, he had one witness in the kullal; and there was nothing to implicate him in the occurrence at the temple, in case it should form subject of inquiry. No, he could not now recede.
As to the old Khan himself, no thought of fear disquieted him. He considered that he was only humouring a whim of his son's in accompanying him, that he might insure the Duffadar's being freed from blame. Suspicion of aught affecting the safety or honour of his house had never entered his mind; and he had ridden along gaily, causing his fine war-horse to caracole and bound, free from all thought of uneasiness, except what might result from the delay.
As the party entered the gate, they were met by several persons deputed to receive them, and returned the respectful and hearty greetings of the soldiery on duty, to whom they were well known. Dismounting at the end of the court, they passed through to the next, where already many suitors and complainants were assembled. There, too, on a bed which had been placed in a side-room, lay the Lalla, with a sheet drawn over him, which Fazil saw was stained with blood. The Lalla had covered his face; but the pink colour of his turban, and its peculiar tie, were not to be mistaken. So, passing all, and receiving and returning salutations, they entered the room of audience, where, surrounded by a few Mutsuddees, or scribes, sat the Kótwal himself.
Jehándar Beg was a Persian by birth, a man of some learning and much cunning, but really intelligent. Those were times when the service of Indian princes was eagerly sought for by Persians, Turks, Affghans, and even Abyssinians; and adventurers often rose to princely rank and honour in their service. Jehándar Beg was one of these. When young he had accompanied a relative to the Dekhan court, the prince of which was a Sheea—his own faith—and where, among others of his countrymen, the historian Mahomed Kasim Ferishta had been distinguished. He had risen steadily in the King's service, and proved himself brave in the field, as well as sagacious and trustworthy. Having attained to his present office, he was, in the main, respected, and was the dread of all night brawlers, sharpers, and thieves, whom he punished heavily; but he was fond of money, and it was whispered that, in grave offences, he had his private price. After all, what mattered that? Occasionally a great person was fined, or otherwise punished, and so men's mouths were stopped, and the Kótwal believed to be a great man.
Jehándar Beg's appearance was magnificent. He always wore the peaked lamb's-wool cap of Khorassan, and the Persian robe; and his rich brown complexion, and dark-brown curly beard, grave features, and large soft black eyes, combined to render his face a remarkable one, not easily forgotten. The expression seldom varied; nothing ever caused him to laugh in his court—rarely to smile—nor did he ever express anger. Happen what might, his habitual gravity never relaxed for a moment, and there was no man who could tell a lie, conceal a fact, or change an opinion—or, in the course of duty, order the torture, and look upon it, with such perfect imperturbability as he did.
His office was at once arduous and difficult, but he was not restricted in power. In cases of life and death, perhaps, and if the criminal were of importance, reference might be made to the chief legal authority or to the King; but, as far as minor punishments were needed, the lopping off of an arm, a hand, or a foot,—torture and imprisonment, or the like,—no one questioned the Kótwal's acts. As chief magistrate of a city which contained a large proportion of lawless population, he often found it necessary to make sudden and severe examples in order to check disorder and crime: and, recently, the city had been agitated by conspirators: parties ran high; and duels and brawls, generally attended by fatal consequences, were frequent.
The old Duffadar was right when he told Fazil of the Kótwal's oath to punish severely the first brawler who should be apprehended, and he trembled for the consequences of the inquiry into the night's disturbances. Here were two men wounded, and, as far as he knew, another who had been taken off, or who had got away; and one dead body, found near the temple of Bhowani among the tamarind trees, was fresh, though torn by wild animals, and the blood had been traced back to the temple wall, on the top of which some stones had been displaced.
Altogether, matters had an ugly appearance; and the old man could not help thinking that Fazil was concerned in both affairs. "May God be merciful to him," he said to himself, "for he is a brave youth, son of a gallant father; better a hundred battle-fields, and a fair chance man to man, than the crooked ways of this court, and the merciless character of Jehándar Beg. Be wary, my lord," he whispered to Fazil, as, having made his obeisance and report, he was falling back to get free of the advancing parties; "Jehándar Beg's looks are not pleasant this morning, and you need to be careful. I should not warn you without there were need; be careful in what you say, and I will guide you by my looks from time to time."
But Fazil had no fear. Unused to such scenes, he could only feelthat his word would pass him free from all suspicion, and that his father's rank and good faith were above question.
To the old Khan, the Kótwal's greeting was one of respectful deference; and the seat of honour was assigned to him. To Fazil, however, he maintained a stiff reserve—so pointed, that the Khan could not but notice and remark upon it.
"That is my son," he said, after an awkward pause which no one apparently dared to break, "and I would have you acquainted with him, Meerza Sahib. Shookr Ulla! he is not utterly unknown among the ranks of those who are true to the King in Beejapoor, though he is but a youth."
There was no reply, however, given to this speech, and the embarrassment of all grew more painful. The clerks and guards looked from one to another, and the old Khan to them in succession, with increasing indignation at their demeanour.
"By the Prophet!" he exclaimed at length, ironically, "ye seem marvellously engaged, gentlemen," as, on hearing him speak, every one looked away, or into the papers before them, "that a civil greeting does not obtain a civil answer. Your politeness, Meerza Sahib, is proverbial in the city; but it seems to have deserted you on this occasion, or is reserved for thieves and loose women. Come, my son—come; we intrude here. Jehándar Beg has his own private work to do, no doubt, and does not need our company."
"Hold!" cried the Kótwal; and, as he spoke, several of the armed attendants closed up the doorway with their long broad spears, while others without blew the matches of their guns. "Hold! Thou mayst go, Afzool Khan, for what may follow may grieve thy brave heart; but there is blood on thy son's sword, and it must be inquired into. Young man, what is this they say against thee? A man killed in a drunken brawl in the worst quarter of the city? Was this to be expected from the son of Afzool Khan? Speak, and speak truly, before God and his Prophet." The Meerza's eyes flashed and dilated as he spoke; and as they rested upon the young man, who had not seated himself, they were met by a gaze as bold and fearless as his own.
"I am no brawler, Meerza Sahib," he exclaimed, in reply. "Astagh-fur-oolla!—nor drunkard either. Peace, father! sit quiet; let me answer for myself—I am not afraid," he added, as the Khan attempted to rise, and was evidently provoked beyond endurance. "Ask the Duffadar who accompanied me, and the man in whose house it happened, whether I am to blame. Their statements will suffice."
"There are two matters to answer for, Meah Sahib," said the Kótwal. "Were you not in the dress of a Gosai last night, and another with you? Nay; no denial!"
"I have nothing to deny, Meerza Sahib," returned Fazil. "My father knew of it, and I went by his permission."
"Good. Now, Peer Sahib, what happened to you?" asked the Kótwal of another officer present.
"My lord, it was just before midnight," he replied, "when two men, Gosais, brought a third person, who was slightly wounded, but complained much of his neck. He is a foreigner, for he speaks the Delhi language. They said he had been robbed, and told us to keep him safe till the morning, when they would come for him; and as the man was very helpless, we put him on a bed in the guard-room, and have brought him here. Again at dawn, some of the men were going towards the temple of Toolja Bhowani, when they saw the dead body of a man, with a deep wound in his back and a stab in his breast—a Hindu, for he had on a Brahmun's thread, so he may be a Rajpoot; but no one knew him. Several mohurs were picked up by him and others between this place and the temple:—the Mutsuddee has them—eleven, I think,—and there was blood all the way along. It was a desperate cut; and how the man could have run at all with those wounds, it is hard to say."
"He was murdered, then," thought Fazil; "would I had not struck him! yet there is one traitor and robber the less."
"And the man who was brought in, what of him?" asked the Kótwal.
"He moaned and groaned, my lord, worse than a woman; said he had been robbed at the temple; spoke of Pahar Singh who had wounded him, Maun Singh who had throttled him, then of the Shah's secretary—may his name be honoured!—and some ten thousand rupees. In short, noble sir, we could make nothing of the matter, for he began to weep if we spoke to him, and told us to take him to the King without delay. So we brought him here, and must speak for himself. It appeared to me like the dream of some opium-smoker," continued the speaker to those about him; "we could not understand it at all."
"Shouldst thou know the men who brought him?"
"Well, my lord, I can't say for certain," replied the officer, "but one of our people said they were not what they seemed; and he thought one was Bulwunt Rao, who is a Silladar of the noble Khan yonder, and who goes about bazars at night, sometimes; the other's face was tied up, and he did not speak."
"I was the other, Meerza Sahib," interposed Fazil, quietly.
"I thought as much," said the Kótwal, drily. "Were they armed, Peer Sahib?"
"Yes, to be sure, my lord," he replied; "would any one go about in those quarters at night without being armed? Yes, they had sword and shield."
"Where are the weapons?"
"Here, my lord," replied the other Duffadar, who now interposed,"in my keeping; the young Khan gave them up to me. He has another sword now."
"Yes, there is blood on the blade, and here are cuts, fresh ones, on the shield," said Jehándar Beg, examining Fazil's weapons. "How, young sir, do you account for these?"
"I will reserve what I have to say; it is no use speaking now," returned Fazil, who had observed his old friend shake his head, and who again nodded approvingly.
"Bring in the wounded man," cried the Kótwal; and the bed on which our poor friend the Lalla lay, was carried in and set down; "we must confront the parties."
"Get up, good man," said an attendant Mutsuddee; "this is the Kótwal; make your reverence, and tell what happened to you."
"Ah, protect me, befriend me. I have been robbed and murdered.... I cannot get up.... I am a poor man and a stranger. Look at my blood," gasped the Lalla by turns to all about him.
"Who did it? and who art thou?" cried the Kótwal. "Where hast thou come from?"
Now, it might be awkward for the Lalla to answer these questions. He knew he had a few gold coins left, enough to keep him for some time—for he had been used to poverty, and could endure it—if he could only get free. Any man with quick wits, could do something for himself in the city; and had he not done good service? These thoughts passed rapidly through his mind ere he spoke.
"Asylum of justice!" he said, in his most humble tones, "I don't know who did it, but I was robbed in the temple."
"Of ten thousand rupees? Speak truly."
"Ah no, sirs. What would a poor Khayet like me do with ten thousand rupees? No, but of what I had in my humeana."
"And Pahar Singh? they tell me he was mentioned by thee."
"Ah, noble sir, I am a stranger and a foreigner; what do I know about Pahar Singh, or anybody? I am very weak," added the Lalla, in a feeble voice; "will no one help me?" and he lay down, as well to escape further questioning, as to excite pity for his misfortunes.
"This will not serve thee, whoever thou art," returned the Kótwal; "answer truly, where art thou come from, and what took thee to that lonely temple at night?"
"My lord, I am a poor Khayet from the north, seeking service; and I fell among thieves who decoyed me thither and robbed me. See, they wounded me also, and tried to strangle me. What more can I say?"
"That is not enough, friend," resumed the Kótwal; "we must know how it happened, for others here appear concerned in the matter, and murder hath been done."
"Murder, my lord!" cried the Lalla, again raising himself;"there was no murder, though perhaps they thought they had killed me when they took what I had."
"Who, Lalla? be not afraid," said Jehándar Beg, soothingly.
"A seeming Jogi and another. They ran away, and left me senseless. Then two Gosais came and raised me up, and gave me water, and took me to the guard-room. May the gods recompense them, for they bound up my wound!"
"Two Gosais—ah, this may be some clue!" said the Kótwal; "this agrees with the other statement. Then thou art one of them, Meah Sahib?"
"I have already said so," replied Fazil; "and my retainer, Bulwunt Rao, was the other."
"What took you there?"
Fazil considered for a moment. What he had been witness of could not now be related, and he replied, "It was a matter, Meerza Sahib, in which I am not bound to answer you. If those it concerns are to hear of it, they shall know otherwise."
"Beware, young sir!" said the Kótwal, gravely; "there can be no secrets here."
"Nevertheless, I cannot answer. It is enough that I have told my father of it," returned Fazil.
"Yes, Jehándar Beg," said Afzool Khan, "he has said enough to prove he was no robber, and that ought to content you."
"Yet there was murder done, my friend," replied the official, quickly; "blood was on the wall of the court, and a corpse not far from it, and there is blood on this sword of your son's. He should clear himself of this horrible suspicion. But stay; there is the other affray to be accounted for,—that in the wine-shop—a drunken brawl, I fear."
"I am no brawler, Meerza Sahib, nor drunkard," exclaimed Fazil, indignantly. "The man is present in whose house it occurred; let him say what happened."
"Let him be brought forward, and let Fureed Duffadar state what happened," said the Kótwal, authoritatively. "Till then be silent, Meah."
The old Duffadar's account was clear and circumstantial, and the Kótwal listened attentively. When it was finished, the Kullal was called, and, prostrating himself, began by imploring protection, which was granted.
"It is a weighty matter, my lords," he said, "and needs much inquiry. May it please you to listen," he continued, after a pause,as if to collect his thoughts. "Your slave would represent that he heard a conversation between the young Khan there and a man whose name may hardly be mentioned in Beejapoor, Tannajee Maloosray."
"Maloosray!" echoed the Kótwal. "Protection of God! thou art not mad to say this? or drunk?"
"May I be your sacrifice!" continued the man, evidently observing that his words had made an impression, "I am not mad, and I have an oath against wine. I swear by the King's salt, that he spoke with Maloosray."
"And he was disguised like a Gosai, Fureed?" asked the Kótwal of the old Duffadar.
"Khódawund! what did he tell you himself he was?" replied the man. "He changed his dress when his father came. Even now the ashes may be on his body."
"What said the young Khan to Maloosray?" asked the Kótwal of the Kullal. "Speak truly, or I will have thee flogged through the bazar, and all thy property confiscated for irregular hours in thy shop."
This was what the man feared from the first. Had Fazil appeared in favour he would have appealed to him for explanations in regard to the affray, for which he dreaded he should be punished; but Fazil seemed already unable to help himself, so he had determined to take his own course in the opposite direction.
"Why should I tell a lie?" he replied, holding up his hands humbly and with a gesture of supplication. "I swear by your feet it is true." Pointing to Fazil, he continued—"He said he knew Pahar Singh was at the temple, and they sent a man for him; and if he did not come, that they should meet again. Then Maloosray said something about Sivaji Bhóslay, and the Moghuls, and the Shah Aurungzeeb, and armies, and there was another message to Pahar Singh. Then another man struck a blow at the Maloosray, and they fought, and I screamed out for the guard, and Maloosray ran off; but I secured him," and he pointed to Fazil.
"O base-born!" exclaimed Fazil, "thy mouth is full of lies——"
"Hear him," interrupted the man; "he had me tied up till the blood nearly burst from my fingers, and made me promise not to reveal this. Behold, my lord, the marks of the cords, and how my arms are swelled. By my child's head, it is true, noble sir, it is all true. How could I, a poor seller of ganja and bhung, have dreamed such things of Tannajee and Sivaji? Do not men tremble at their names? Search the young Khan, he has papers which Maloosray gave him. I saw them myself——"
"Alas, it is but too clear to me," said the Kótwal, interrupting Afzool Khan, who was about to speak, "that there is deep treachery here. Deep plots are being laid, but this poor servant of Godhas a clue to one at least. Inshalla! it will be sifted to the bottom. Enough of suspicion was there against you, young sir, on the other matter, but this is graver still. Yield, therefore, Afzool Khan, and you, Meah; resistance is vain, and I would fain spare blood."
As he spoke, the soldiers and attendants, who had gradually gathered round them, closed in so near that they could have been seized or overpowered at once, if the old Khan's sword had not been drawn by him the instant their movement was made. Now, as he stood prepared to meet any attack, his eyes flashing and his tall figure drawn up to its full height, no one ventured a step towards them, nor offered to seize his son, who, on his part, made no attempt at resistance.
"Draw, Fazil, draw!" cried the Khan; "let us see which of these sons of vile mothers will first die. O that we had a score of our fellows with us, this insult would not have happened. Draw, boy! a few good strokes will see us clear of this gang of executioners, and there are enough men without to carry us through the city. Come on, in the name of God! Bismilla!"
Saying this, the old man advanced a step, while those before him, so sudden and determined was his movement, fell back as though they would have allowed him egress. Fazil, however, saw his father's danger, not only from the chance of a sword-thrust or blow in the struggle which must ensue, and the certainty of an attempt at rescue by the men without if they heard of it, but in the disgrace and suspicion which would fall upon them if the inquiry were forcibly interrupted.
"Father, father!" he cried, passionately, "do not stir. I implore you, move not. You know how false this base charge is, and I beseech you not to let it be said that we feared to meet it, and evaded justice. Yes, let it be first done on this lying dog, who has misled Jehándar Beg. See, for one, I surrender myself and my weapons;" and, as he spoke, he threw his sword and dagger on the floor, which were eagerly secured by an attendant.
"Degenerate!" cried his father. "Dost thou fear death, boy? When did an Affghan ever surrender his weapons but with his life? Fie on thee for a coward, to hesitate to strike a blow for me!"
"Coward!" exclaimed the young man, sadly. "Father, you know not what you say. Why such bitter words? is this a time for contention?"
"Khan Sahib," said Jehándar Beg, who had risen with the others, and now advanced, "listen to your son's words of peace and reason. You are alone, and, though one or two might fall, there would be no escape. The blood of Afzool Khan, or his son, should not flow in a court of justice, but against the King's enemies. Put up your weapon, and wear it, Khan; and you, noble youth, yours.Appearances are against you both; and these plots have been so long hidden from us, that your poor servant, the slave of the King—may his splendour increase!—has no alternative but to detain you till the pleasure of the Wuzeer is known."
"Father, I beseech you to listen to reason—to advice kindly given and well meant," cried Fazil; "consider what is at stake, and that the moment we have speech of the King there will be no fear."
Afzool Khan looked from one to the other and around him irresolutely, and the tears rose to his eyes, and fell over in large drops. Any advance would have decided him to an act of desperation; but his son saw the struggle in his mind, and, throwing himself before him, grasped his feet.
"Father, save your honour," he cried, earnestly; "save your life by my example. Shall it be said that Afzool Khan died a traitor, or that a breath of suspicion rested upon the truest, most loyal name in Beejapoor?"
A moment the old Khan hesitated, but his sword-point dropped, and he dashed his hand across his eyes impatiently. "My spirit chafes at the thought of restraint, Fazil," he said; "yet for thy sake, boy, I submit. But I pray thee, Jehándar Beg, let thine errand to the Wuzeer be done swiftly, or, by the Prophet, there be those in my service who would reck little of a rescue. Stay, I had better write; that will assure them more."
A few lines were hastily written by Fazil, and sealed with the Khan's private signet. One of the escort was called up, and the note given to him by Fazil himself, with an order to take the men home, and a caution to be discreet. The soldier looked about him incredulously.
"Do you remain of your own pleasure, my lord?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the Khan; "we have business here for to-day which cannot be deferred. Keep quiet, all of ye; but be ready," he added, in an under-tone; "when I need ye I will send word."
"Very good," cried the man in a loud voice, in order to cover the Khan's whisper, "very good; I understand; it shall be done."
"You had better withdraw to the private apartments, Khan," said the Kótwal, respectfully. "I know too well the honour of a Puttán to question you. Stay there till I return. Refreshment, too, shall be provided; and I pray you to consider this poor house as your own while you stay in it. The Wuzeer was at Almella yesterday, and is expected this evening."
Afzool Khan hesitated, but his son whispered, "We shall be better there, father, than amidst these curious gazers," and drew him along gently. He did not resist, but followed passively. "Stay, however," added Fazil to the Kótwal; "where is Fureed Duffadar? I would speak with him."
The man advanced a few steps. "I am here, my lord; what are your orders?"
"None from me," returned Fazil; "but look you, Meerza Sahib—for the sake of justice ask of this good man what that Kullal told us; for it is in the law that the word of a true believer is better than the oath of a Kafir. And, pardon me, Meerza, but my father and myself, in the name of the King, hold you responsible for the custody of that man. How came Maloosray into his shop, or to remain there while a King's guard was within ear-shot? Ah, liar," added the young man, as the Kullal was advancing, with joined hands, and about to speak, "no more; thou hast told enough lies for the present; by-and-by there will be other questions. Beware of them."
So saying, he passed with his father into the door which the Kótwal himself held open. It was a quiet, secluded place—a small apartment supported upon wooden pillars and arches, which opened into a court shaded with trees. Carpets and pillows were there in abundance, and the place was cool and neatly furnished.
"The papers, whatever they are, Meah, remain with you," said the Meerza. "Shall we examine them here privately?"
"They will be shown to the King only," said Fazil, dryly, "for they concern no one else; meanwhile I am responsible for them."
"Then I will leave ye, noble sirs," returned the other; "be pleased to rest yourselves."
"O for a moment's speech of the King!" cried the Khan, as they were alone. "Now it is too late, and Khan Mahomed is lost. Nay, son, 'tis a pretty court, and not unlike our own Khilwut; but I cannot breathe freely. Canst thou, Fazil? it chokes me."
"Fear not, father; all will be well, I trust," replied his son. "Unobserved, I gave a message to the lad Ashruf, who seems faithful, to be delivered to Kowas Khan. If he comes, all will be well, for he can warn his father. No harm can happen to us except from the Wuzeer, and he may——"
"He dare not," cried Afzool Khan—"he dare not think of us; he will have enough to do to save himself. If the Shah acts—acts firmly—as—as—I would, son, were I in his place and were it my dearest friend—he should die. O Khan Mahomed! O friend!" exclaimed the old man bitterly, "how often have I remonstrated and implored, but you have not listened! He spoke me fair, Fazil, always,—see what is in his heart. But what is written, is written. Let it be; we cannot prevent it."
"Ameen, father! we can only do what is possible to save——"
"I tell thee, boy," resumed the Khan, interrupting him, "I doubt whether it would be meet in us to interfere with God's designs, and to help treachery to escape its deserts. The danger is too greatto the King, and, next to God and the Prophet, he is to us dear and honoured. I tell thee, son, we had better not interfere; it may not be good for us."
"Nay, father," said Fazil, "so long as we speak friendly truth and warning, there can be no fear; and what is written in the Wuzeer's destiny will be fulfilled."
"Thou wilt see to that door with thy life, Nasir," whispered the Kótwal to one of his chief attendants, a burly Abyssinian slave. "See that no one passes out or in without my orders. If violence is attempted, strike,—dost thou hear?—to the death! Proud as Afzool Khan is, he may yet lower his head, perhaps with his life. And they have papers, which we must take, Nasir—forcibly, if we cannot otherwise get them:—ere the sun sets, too, or he passes hence."
"Are we strong enough to keep the Khan, my lord?" asked the man doubtingly.
"Ay, true; we need be stronger; send this ring," and he took off his signet, "to the Wuzeer's son. Say we need five hundred men to reinforce the guard. Yes, we should otherwise be too weak, if those mad Affghans were to attempt a rescue. Return here when the messenger goes."
"On my head and eyes be it," replied the slave; "no one shall pass hence save over my dead body."
Maloosray had too much at stake to risk aught by delay, and he and his companions fled from the back door of the house already described, screened by the rain and thick darkness, leaving, however, one of the scouts to inform their companion of what had happened, and with directions for both to join him at their place of concealment as quickly as possible. They proceeded at a rapid pace, leaving the suburb, and striking across the open plain, eastwards, in the direction of the small hamlet of Allapoor, bearing the wounded man with them. Heretofore, in his stealthy visits to the city, Maloosray had found shelter and concealment in a Mutt or monastery of Jogis, who, in their annual pilgrimages, had become known to him, and assuming their garb, and even joining them in their morning perambulations in search of alms, he had been enabled to visit those persons in the city with whom his intrigues were being carried on. Now, however, the Jogis had warned him that their Mutt was no longer safe. Jehándar Beg had received information which led to several visits by his men at night; and though not interferedwith, or even aware of the reason of suspicion, the Jogis knew they were watched.
But they were true to his interests, and had prepared a place more secure, because without the walls, and more secluded, than their own Mutt, which was the resort of travellers and devotees from all parts of the country. This was the cloister of an old Hindu temple which stood by itself in an unfrequented part of the plain, and which, either by some act of desecration, or because of its inconvenient situation, had been long neglected. The cloister round it was, however, in good repair, and a little plastering with clay, and cleansing of the chamber from the accumulated dust of years, made the place comfortable enough; and one of the Jogis attended in turn, brought provisions, and acted as cook to the party.
It was easy from thence to reach the city unobserved. Not far distant was the small hamlet of Allapoor, yet sufficiently far to deter prying persons from coming to see who lived in the deserted temple; and if any one were observed, it was, to all appearance, only a Jogi. When, therefore, the Patel, or chief elder of the village of Allapoor, was told by the shepherd boys that some mendicants were repairing the cloister of the old temple and staying there, he bade no one interfere with them; and his goodwill was by-and-by secured by an occasional present from time to time. No one suspected the place or its inhabitants; and few frequented the plain about it, which, being hard and stony, was uncultivated, as it still remains, and was used here and there for cemeteries; but the greater part was left to nature, and to flocks of hardy sheep and goats, which picked up a scanty subsistence.
It was not without some apprehension that Maloosray had first trusted himself to the new shelter; but in the course of several visits he had become accustomed to it, and found that he was at once freer and safer there, than in his old quarters inside the walls. The horses, too, were excellently provided for in the crypt of an adjoining Mahomedan tomb, which had never been finished, nor had any use been made of it. Below the foundation terrace was a spacious arched vault, above which the walls of the mausoleum had been partly carried; and the entrance was so overgrown with matted creepers and bushes, that it could not be seen unless examined very closely. Within, three horses, and as many stout ponies, found excellent shelter and concealment; and Maloosray's scouts—who were, in fact, his retainers and escort—lived with them and tended them.
To this place Maloosray proceeded as fast as the wet ground and the rough by-paths would permit—supporting his companion when needful, and helping him over stony places. The wound was not dangerous, yet it had caused considerable loss of blood, and the hardy mountaineer was more weakened than he liked to admit. Once theyemerged upon the plain, the temple was soon reached; and, after having the sword-cut dressed and bound up, the wounded man was left to his repose.
Maloosray's next care was for his horses, and he proceeded to the crypt. Safe now from observation, for it was long past midnight, the men there were busy with preparations for the morning meal—for they could cook only at night. Two were grinding millet-flour in the hand-mill, which they always carried with them; another was kneading dough in a wooden trough; a fourth shaping portions of it into cakes, which he patted between his hands into the desired form, and a fifth was baking them upon a large flat iron pan or griddle—which held several at the same time—and removing them to the side of the fire to harden, as fast as baked.
A goodly pile of bread had already accumulated; and in two earthen pots simmered messes of vegetables and split-peas, from which a strong, and not unsavoury, smell of onions and garlic proceeded. The fire, fed by dry sticks from time to time, lighted up the space around, resting upon the rough stone arches and heavy massive groins of the crypt; and upon the forms of several men lying asleep, wrapped in their strong cotton sheets or rough blankets, while others reclined lazily, talking occasionally to those employed. There were three horses—two lay asleep among the men, the other, a powerful silver-grey mare, was feeding, and looking round occasionally to the man baking bread, expecting, with a low whinny, her allowance of buttered cakes.
The scene was peculiar and striking: for the gloom of the vault was so deep, except around the fire itself, that every object seemed to stand out in sharp relief as the light caught it. Just then, too, a brighter blaze than before rested upon the coat of the mare, and, shining on the soft glossy skin, caused the graceful outline of her form to project from the deep gloom behind it in a remarkable manner.
"What! awake, and no one guarding the door? Ah! would ye have the Kótwal's men upon ye, my sons?" cried Maloosray, entering unobserved. "Beware, all of ye, the risk is great."
"Master, we had the watch set," answered a man, standing up and making a clumsy salutation, while others started to their feet. "I only came in for a moment to see to the mare, for the rest were busy."
"Has she not slept?"
"O yes! She just now woke, got up, shook herself, and neighed. That was what brought me in; I thought she had no fodder, and that the others might be asleep."
"Then she is fresh for a journey, in case we have a rapid one, Ramjee?"
"Ay, master; you may be at Poona in three days if you will, or at Pertâbgurh either. She will do it."
Maloosray approached the animal: she stretched her head towards him with a low whinny, and rubbed her nose and eyes against him. "Yes, Rookminee," he said, caressing her, "thou wilt have sharp work, perhaps. Art ready, lass?"
There was another low whinny in reply, as she licked the hand held out to her. She at least understood the caress, and responded to it. He passed his hand over her sleek coat, which glistened like silver in the firelight, and down each leg, and taking up each hoof, narrowly examined every shoe and nail in it in succession.
"Ah! if you can find any fault there, master, you may do as you please with me," said Ramjee. "No; Balla at Jutt knows his trade too well to allow a nail to slack, and he knows, too, whose mare he is shoeing! What does he say? When Sivaji Bhóslay comes with a hundred thousand horse, then I will ride with him on his raid to the south, and not a horse shall drop a shoe, be the journey ever so long."
"And he shall, Ramjee," cried Maloosray, laughing. "The fellow is a braggart, but he is useful."
"Ah! master, that was a rare meeting. Was it not curious that so many horses wanted shoeing that day? Well, so thought the royal horsemen stationed there; and they went about twisting up their moustaches, and swelling themselves out as you never saw, my lord. Many good fellows there were, who would not have cared for a chance with some of those gallants in the open plain. When are we to begin, master?"
"Ay, when?" echoed a number of the men, who ceased their occupation for a moment, or raised themselves on their elbows while the answer was given.
"Not yet, my sons, not yet; we bide our time. And now for work," answered Maloosray. "Go thou, Ramjee, to the Paigah of Afzool Khan early, and see if that dog Bulwunt Rao is dead. Well was it that I tied chains in my turban folds last night, else he had cloven me to the teeth. I have vowed a silver horse to the shrine of Khundôba at Jejoori, for the deliverance."
"And was he slain, master, at last?"
"Nay, that is what I want to know," he replied. "But I had a fair blow at him, and I rarely miss. Go, and bring news quickly."
"Master," said Ramjee in a tone of entreaty, and reverentially touching Maloosray's feet, "I will go. Let there be no risks like this again. What would the Maharaja do without you, and what is there to be gained here that is worth such peril?"
"Ah, yes!" added another, "what if ten thousand such as we are were expended, it would be nothing were Tannajee safe. Only that two of us in the lane behind Rama's, misdirected a party of the King's men, ye had been beset, before and behind; and if the King had gothold of any of ye, the kites and crows of the 'Goruk Imlee' would have had full bellies by this evening."
"Well, it was not of my seeking," returned Maloosray; "for Bulwunt Rao was reported dead—killed in battle two years ago; so, at least, we heard. It was like fighting a spirit, my sons; and I missed my blows.... Hark! who is that without? Netta? What news, brother?" he continued, as a slight, active-looking man entered hastily. "Didst thou find Pahar Singh, the old robber?"
"Maharaj!" returned the man, "there was no Pahar Singh. We found a fire burning in the verandah of the temple, and I took a lighted brand and looked about. All we could discover was a little fresh blood on the floor and three gold pieces among the ashes. But there was blood on the wall too, and we tracked it for a few paces, when the torch went out in the rain, so we went on and heard a man moaning in a nullah, and some jackals were standing by him as we went up. Dost thou remember Maun Singh, who is with Pahar Singh always? Well, we could hardly see, so Limba went back for another brand, and brought it under his blanket, and then we saw the man's face. He was terribly wounded, and could not speak sensibly, but one or two names escaped him, one of which was Pahar Singh, and Limba knew his face."
"Ye did not let him live, the foul traitor and liar?" cried Maloosray, excitedly. "O that it had been 'the Lion' himself! Ye did not let him live?"
"Master, he will speak no more, nor yet tell lies. I have made that sure enough," said Limba, approaching and touching the feet of Maloosray. "I knew him after what happened in the old Gosai's Mutt at Tooljapoor, and Moro Punt would have had me kill him then and the other too, only I could find no opportunity. They had some fifty horse with him, and were as shy as deer. Now I have settled that account."
"Good, my son," replied Maloosray; "but what had happened, Netta? Was there no further trace of them?"
"None, Maharaj; we were fairly puzzled. We returned, and stayed in the temple by the fire, in hopes that Pahar Singh might come back; but it was no use. Then we went and listened behind the guard-house, and heard there was a man wounded in an affray—a 'Gosai'—and there was a barber dressing his wound."
"Then he did not die? I had hoped he did."
"Holy Mother! was this thy work, master, and all of us away?" cried several of the men.
"No; Ranoo remained with me," replied Maloosray, "and has got a scratch; but what of the man wounded? What think ye of Bulwunt Rao, my cousin, dead long since, as we thought, but come to life, Netta?"
"My curse on him! And he escaped you, Tannajee?"
"I am going to see if he be dead, brother," interposed Ramjee; "the master's blows are not little ones."
"You see, friends, they—those two Gosais—as they appeared, must have met Pahar Singh, who directed them. I see it all now—the villain's attempt to decoy us into that trap by the temptation of news of the Wuzeer. Depend upon it, he has been bought over, and is not to be trusted; and he set them on our track."
"He never was," cried both the men; "he has only one king and one god—that is money," added Netta; "and he has gone where he could get it."
"Yes, friends, those men knew us," continued Maloosray; "and to my mind the place is no longer safe: so we had as well be ready. If they have given the alarm—and Bulwunt would do so if he had any sense—we shall have horsemen scouring the plains to-morrow, and that fine lad, Fazil Khan, at the head of them. So away, some of you: watch the gates; let the horses be kept saddled all day; and let them have bread as fast as they can eat it. I would go at once, Nettajee," he added to that person, taking him aside; "but the Wuzeer must be seen and spoken with first. He was at Almella yesterday, and will be in the city by the afternoon. Without having speech of him, I dare not show myself before the master; and the object of our journey would be incomplete. I think we may trust him."
"Alas! I fear not," replied Nettajee; "ye are too sanguine, you and the Maharaja. Khan Mahomed will not league with us; he leans to the Moghuls, and calls us 'Kafirs of Hindus,' and kills cows wherever he can. I know it. Why do ye trust him, when he is faithless to his own salt? Suppose he chose to turn round and hang up Tannajee Maloosray to the 'Goruk Imlee tree,' would not that keep him fair in his master's eyes, and blind them to his intrigues with the Padshah? Ah, brother, trust him not: one who will deceive the master who has raised him to what he is, will deceive you. A slave born, he will be one to the last; and he is not fit to strike in with free men like us! Leave him to the Moghuls, to whom he will be a slave, as he was to Beejapoor: we have our own road between both. But come now to Ranoo: is he fit to travel?"
"He will be better after he has slept. We were owls, Nettajee, not to see through those flimsy disguises," returned Maloosray.
"Bulwunt Rao is better living than dead, brother; and we may yet bring him round," said Nettajee.
"I tell thee, O Netta," interrupted Tannajee, fiercely, and grinding his teeth as he spoke, "I would cut him down with my own hand at the feet of the Maharaja, rather than he should have speech of him. Never name him to me, else we may differ."
"Ah, that blow of his still rings in your head, Tannajee," replied the other, laughing. "But come; if you don't need sleep, I do. He sleeps," he continued, as they entered the cloister where the wounded man lay; "that is well; and I will do the same, Tannajee;" and so saying, he took down a sheet from a cord on which it was hanging, and, wrapping himself in it, lay down, and was soon snoring loudly.
But Maloosray could not sleep, and after a while, got up, and ascending the steps to the roof of the terrace, looked over the plain suspiciously. All, however, was still. To the east, lightning was playing about the tops of the clouds in dim flickering flashes. Everywhere else the sky was clear, and the stars shone with great lustre. A few jackals howled in the distance, and their cry was answered successively in many directions. Then the drums and horns of the several guards at the gates and on the outer walls and bastions of the city, sounded deep and shrill one by one, and were taken up by those in the "Ark" or citadel of the palace, and so died away in the distance.
His eye followed the line of towers and battlements, and narrowly watched every light which might betoken a stir among the troops within; but there was none. The huge dome of the mausoleum of Mahmood Adil Shah, not long completed, stood out in a dark heavy mass against the clear sky: and beyond it the outlines of the Palace of the Seven Stories—the great Cavalier—and a confused mass of trees and buildings intermingled; nearer, too, the massive walls and arches of the tomb of the mother of the late King, then, as now, unfinished.
All was still. High up in the palace a light twinkled now and then faintly, on which Tannajee speculated dreamily. Was the King awake? the light was in his private apartments. What could he be doing so late in the night? for the drums and trumpets had sounded the third watch. O that he would join heartily with his master, and defy the Moghuls! Would no one tell him this was his best policy? Better a thousand times to secure the fidelity of a large portion of his own subjects by timely concession, than to defy and coerce their chieftain. Now, too, though the Moghuls had been once beaten off, it would not be so again. They were resting and gathering strength, and one by one the independent kingdoms to the north had fallen before them.
How long would this remain?—this, the most extensive, most valuable, and most heretical. Better far, then, to secure the Mahratta people, than to lose all by a double war with them, and with the Moghuls. "Will no one tell the boy this?" thought Maloosray. "We do not wish him evil; but the master must be free, and will be free. The people will assemble at the Dusséra, and the King can then have his choice between a lakh of Mahrattas anda lakh of Moghuls, or both combined; and yet this old family should not pass away—it should not pass away at our hands."
But we need not follow his thoughts further: better to transport ourselves to that twinkling light high up in the Seven-storied Palace, and see who sit beside it, and hear what they say.