FOOTNOTE:[7]The Royal well, which is surrounded by cloisters and rooms, where travellers still put up.
[7]The Royal well, which is surrounded by cloisters and rooms, where travellers still put up.
[7]The Royal well, which is surrounded by cloisters and rooms, where travellers still put up.
It was no fear of Maloosray or lack of enterprise that caused the young Khan to desist from his pursuit; but finding that his retainer had not followed him, nor, indeed, any of the guard—the fear that Bulwunt might have been wounded occurred to him, or that he had been apprehended and detained. It was hopeless also to trace Maloosray, or to ascertain which way he and his companion had proceeded, as they issued from the door of the courtyard into the lane behind. Turning back then, after he had run a few paces, by the way he had come, and directed by the clamour inside the house, he passed rapidly through the yard, and entered the room where the quarrel had taken place; this he found filled with armed men, with several torch-bearers standing around what appeared to be the dead body of his friend.
Fazil had observed Maloosray's violent attack upon him, and that Bulwunt retreated a step or two to avoid it; while at the same time he had advanced towards his own antagonist. The consequences of that blow, therefore, were not immediately seen by him. Now inexpressibly shocked and grieved by the result, Fazil heeded no one; but pressing his way through those assembled, somewhat roughly, he threw himself on his knees beside Bulwunt, who was quite insensible, and, laying aside his sword, strove to raise him up. He saw indeed with great grief that Bulwunt had received a very severe wound; and the pool of blood flowing from the cut, which had not been stanched, and his apparently lifeless condition, caused the most lively alarm.
"Will no one help me?" cried Fazil, looking round, while vainly endeavouring to stanch the blood which occasionally welled from the gaping wound, as Bulwunt breathed heavily. "For the love of God and the Apostle lend me thy waist-band, good sir!" he continued, addressing a respectable-looking man who had accompanied the soldiers, and who was, in fact, the petty officer over them; "or bidsome one loose my waist-cloth, else he will perish. Alas, my true friend and brother!"
"And who are you," returned the man contemptuously, "who, in the dress of a Kafir Gosai, dares to take the name of the holy Apostle?—on whom be peace!—a thief or murderer, I warrant. How say you, brother! He may have done this himself, and now mingles with us to pretend grief and avoid suspicion. Here is some evil, depend upon it; seize him and bind him fast."
"Yes, my lords," cried the keeper of the house, who now ventured forward, "bind him fast. That is the fellow who did the murder. They quarrelled over their ganja; and though I did all I could to prevent them——"
"Peace!" cried Fazil, accustomed only to command, and who could ill brook the measures threatened; for several men had closed about him at their officer's order, while another had kicked away his sword, which one of the men was picking up. "Peace, I say; raise him up! See, he is badly wounded; have you no compassion? He will die!"
"Whether he dies or whether he lives, one would think it was little concern of thine, boy," replied the man; "and there is blood on his sword, too," he added, as the man who had possessed himself of it held it up to the light. "Seize him, brother, and bind him fast; he will have to answer for this in the morning. Who art thou, ill-born?"
As the leader of the party spoke, several of the soldiers had thrown themselves upon Fazil, who still kneeled beside Bulwunt, and, holding him down, pulled the turban rudely from his head, and in an instant bound his arms with it so tightly behind his back that the act caused him immediate and exquisite pain.
"Who art thou, knave?" asked the man again peremptorily.
"Speak," cried several of the men, shaking him rudely; "don't you hear what his worship says to you? Speak!"
"It is useless for me now to say who I am," replied Fazil looking round. "Enough that I am one of your own faith, as ye will know when the morning breaks;—one who may be able to punish you for rough uncivil usage, or reward you if that poor fellow is speedily aided. I care little what happens to myself; but if ye know of a physician near, or a skilful barber, I pray, good sir," he continued, addressing himself to the officer, "send for him, that a valuable life may be saved."
This speech was received with a shout of derision by most of the party; but their leader was not unobservant, and he saw at once, by the manner and speech of Fazil, that he was no common person; certainly not, what his attire proclaimed him to be, a Gosai. There was a chance that he might be some one of rank in disguise. Thekeeper of the house had declared him to be the man who had struck down the unfortunate Bulwunt; but, again, the consideration of his return to the spot, and his sincere grief at the poor fellow's wound, went far to assure the officer that his prisoner had not done the deed, and that whoever did it had escaped. These thoughts rapidly occurring, caused the Duffadar to doubt whether rigour was needful. "Art thou a Gosai?" he asked again. "Answer truly!"
"There is no God but God, and Mahomed is the Prophet of God," exclaimed Fazil, repeating the creed, and, as rapidly as possible, in Arabic, the first part of the midnight prayer. "No, good sir, I am no Gosai, but a humble disciple of the Prophet, on whom be peace!"
"Toba, Toba! now shame on me that I should have put a Mussulman to disgrace," exclaimed the Duffadar. "Loose him, friends—we will see to this; and run one of ye to the respectable Meer Hoosein, who lives in the alley yonder, and is a skilful doctor; and, if I mistake not, there is a clever barber, one Nunda, who lives near him, and who is accustomed to matters of this kind. Bid him bring his needles to sew up the wound. And, hark ye, no excuses from either about the rain and lateness of the night; this is the King's business, and a matter of life and death."
Then turning to Bulwunt, who had been raised up while Fazil's arms were being unbound, and who appeared sensible, he spoke cheerfully to him, bidding him not to be afraid, for he would be well treated.
"Water!" gasped the poor fellow, looking dreamily about him and pointing to his mouth—"Water!"
"Here is a vessel full," cried a bearded soldier, advancing; "drink, friend."
"Hold," said Fazil, "he is a Hindu; he will not take it from you. Where is the kullal? Let him get some."
"Here, great sir," said the man, advancing with a brass vessel full. "Who is he? May he take water from me?"
"He is a Mahratta," replied Fazil.
"Then there is no fear," added the kullal, and he knelt down and poured a little into Bulwunt's mouth, who drank it eagerly, and, laying hold of the vessel itself, took a long draught, which seemed to revive him; while the kullal, untying the scarf about his chin, wetted it with water and applied it to the wound; and, removing his turban, also wetted his head.
This treatment soon revived Bulwunt, who now sat up and passed his hand dreamily over his eyes, but did not speak.
"He seems recovering," said the Duffadar to Fazil, who had been pulled to one side and was held by two men, though his arms were untied. "So far thou art fortunate, young sir; but, in the name of the saints, why didst thou strike him down? Was this well?'Twas but yesterday that the Kótwal swore on the Kôrán that he would have the right arm of the first brawler who should do murder: pity such fate should befall thee, young as thou art! Are there not enough of the Shah's enemies abroad to try thy weapons upon, without mixing in midnight brawls? But speak to thy friend, if friend he is. It may have been a hasty blow, deeply regretted."
"Sir, you are under some extraordinary mistake," said Fazil, who had several times tried to interrupt the speaker. "I am not the man who did this. Ho! Bulwunt, Bulwunt!" he continued, "speak if you can, and fear not. I am here, and these are friends."
"Meah," said the poor fellow very faintly, "I am badly hurt. I may die, Ai Narayun! Ai Bhugwân!—Water, Meah! I am faint and sick,"—and he fell back almost insensible.
"Loose my arms, good sir," cried Fazil impatiently; "I am no thief to run away. If there be a Hindu among you, give him some water. I may not do so."
"Let him go," said the Duffadar to the men, "there is some mistake here, I think, and no enmity between them; and do thou, Jewun Singh, fetch a vessel of water—he will drink from thy hand freely."
Fazil's first act on being released was to examine the wound, which was severe, and required care. The sabre of Maloosray had cut deep into the neck, close to the shoulder, and the loss of blood had been very great. A little higher up and the wound must have been instantly fatal. To wring out the scarf which the kullal had placed upon it, and replace it wetted, was Fazil's first care, and in this the Duffadar and some of the men now lent a willing hand. Fresh cool water was also brought by the man who had been sent for it, and Bulwunt Rao, having again drunk freely, sat up supported by his young lord.
"Ask him now, Duffadar Sahib," said Fazil, "whether it was I who wounded him, and, on his reply, give me liberty or not as seems good to you. Speak, Bulwunt Rao, did I hurt you?"
"Now may his tongue rot who says so," replied the wounded man, looking wildly about him. "But thou art safe, Meah!—and did they escape?"
"Who?" asked the Duffadar sharply.
"Tannajee Maloosray, the friend of Sivaji Bhóslay," returned Bulwunt. "People know of him, perhaps!"
"Tannajee Maloosray? Thou art dreaming, friend," said the Duffadar, with an incredulous smile. "Tannajee dared no more enter Beejapoor than—than——"
"Than you, good sir, dare go to him, I suppose," said Fazil, ending the sentence. "Nevertheless, he was here, and but for a mischance would have been lying dead there."
"Tannajee here!" mused the Duffadar; "this must, then, be some deep plot, and the city is full of plots. Sir," he said to the young Khan, "the mention of that name, and all the events we have seen, cause many suspicions in my mind which I am not competent to dispose of; therefore, whoever thou art, release is impossible till the morning, when I must give an account of all matters to the Kótwal, who has cautioned the guards to be watchful against Mahratta parties and Moghul emissaries."
"Willingly," replied Fazil. "I could not leave him now, nor till his wound is dressed. As for myself, I am Fazil, the son of Afzool Khan, though I may not tell why I am disguised as an infidel, and why found in this place; suffice it to say it was in the King's service."
"Now may I receive my lord's pardon," cried the old man, presenting humbly the hilt of his sword as an offering. "Why did he not tell me sooner, and this offence and presumption would have been spared? Who among us does not know the valiant Afzool Khan, and have not all heard of his son Fazil Khan, the pillar of the state?" he added to the men, who fell back, saluting the young man with mingled curiosity and respect.
"Give me some water," said Fazil. "This dress and appearance are against me, Duffadar," he continued, laughing; "and if I had told who I was when ye seized me first, my arms might even have been bound a screw tighter perhaps. It does not signify now, for you only did your duty, as I can bear witness. Ah, the water is come—pour it over my hands, good fellow, and after the paint has disappeared, some of ye may know me."
"I know you, my lord," said a youth who pressed forward, as Fazil turned again to the light from the door where he had been washing his face. "Yes, father," he continued to the Duffadar, "this is truly the brave young Khan—no doubt of that;" and he stepped forward and touched Fazil's feet.
"Too dangerous, too dangerous," said the Duffadar, "for one like him. Yes, thou art right, Ashruf—now I know the face too; but the disguise was perfect; who could have guessed it? Too dangerous: and thou the only son of the noble Khan! Ah, sir, had any evil befallen thee——"
"No matter if I had died," cried Fazil, "it would have been in the Shah's service; but here are the physician and barber, and my friend's wound must be dressed; and do one of ye see for that kullal, who knows more of Tannajee than any one else. Where is he?"
While some of the men went to search for the kullal, the barber, having trimmed the lamp and increased the light by several wicks, unfastened a leathern case containing razors and other instruments,and selecting two crooked needles fitted with waxed silk thread, put them aside, while he washed the wound clean in a careful and confident manner. A few stitches brought the lips of the cut together, after which it was bound up with fresh leaves of the neem tree, which cooled the wound and refreshed the patient.
All this having been effected, Bulwunt Rao was carefully raised up and borne by several of the men to the chowree, or guard-room, which was hard by, but at the opposite side of the quarter to that in which the Lalla had been lodged.
While search was being made for the kullal, Fazil's thoughts reverted painfully to his father and sister. He could not leave Bulwunt without exposing himself to further suspicion; but he might at least send news of his safety, and his application to the Duffadar for a messenger was promptly acceded to.
"Surely, Khan," was the prompt reply, "I could hardly refuse your going yourself, if you asked; but it is better you stayed. Men's tongues are bad, and I am only a humble man. Verily I will send my own son Ashruf, and he will do the errand carefully. He is gone—that is, my son Ashruf—my lord, to see the barber home, and will be here directly. A brave youth, O Khan, and with a large heart. Does my lord remember the Friday's fight with the Moghuls in the plain by Allapoor? Well, in that my boy did good service, and in killing one of the enemy got a sharp cut himself over the arm, but he did not care for it; and was he not fighting on the strength of the King's salt?"
"Indeed, I remember it well, Duffadar," returned Fazil, "for I was beaten down, and wellnigh killed myself, when this poor friend of mine here rescued me. How, Bulwunt! was it not that day?"
"Ay, Meah, that very day," he said faintly; "the last battle Bulwunt Rao will ever see in thy service. I am very faint, Meah. These films before my eyes seem to precede death. I pray thee leave me not here."
"Nay, fear not," replied Fazil; "the barber said there was no danger of life. Be of good heart, Bulwunt—no bones are cut; and though there is much weakness from loss of blood, you will soon be well. Get to sleep, we shall not leave before daylight."
"I do not fear, Meah. Death has no pain or regret for me. My only wish was to die in the service of your house. I am the last of my race, and have no one to mourn for me like thee, Meah! I would live for thee if it be the will of God; and but for this, death would be welcome."
"Peace! do not speak, friend," returned Fazil; "go to sleep, and thou wilt be strong ere morning. Does not the barber, I tell thee, say there is no danger? so be comforted."
"None perhaps of life, Meah; but this arm, which was all I had to live for, it will never hold sword more, Meah—never, never!" and he sobbed like a child.
"Fear not," cried the Duffadar cheerily; "I have worse wounds on me than that, Rao Sahib, and yet my arm can strike a blow for the Shah; so be comforted, and get to sleep."
Bulwunt sighed. "If I had only slain him," he said, "and revenged the dead, then I could have died; or if this arm had gone for that, its best service in life would have been done. I shall never have such a chance again, Meah. But the gods have need of him, and he has the protection of Dévi. He and Sivaji Bhóslay both have it, as ye will see hereafter, Meah. Who can resist them?"
"This is the youth of whom I spake, Khan Sahib," said the Duffadar; "a brave boy—a brave boy he always was."
And truly there was much in the appearance of the youth to corroborate this. An open, dare-devil, good-humoured countenance, with bright merry eyes, which, as he spoke, seemed to close up till two bright sparks only were visible; and a wide bow-shaped mouth, about which fun, and perhaps some mischief, played in perpetual smiles, conveyed an impression of recklessness of danger, as a lithe rapidity of movement did of extreme activity of body, and perhaps endurance.
"A brave youth, doubtless, Duffadar Sahib," said Fazil; "his eye speaks for him; a boy to be proud of. How sayst thou, lad? Wilt thou do an errand for the son of Afzool Khan?"
"Ay will I," replied the boy promptly, while he presented his sword-hilt to the young Khan, as his father had done; "and gladly too; and if my lord will pardon me for saying it, I have long known him. Who does not know the brave son of a brave father? Ah, Meah Sahib! if I had only been on a horse when Afzool Khan's Paigah dashed into the Moghul's that Friday, I would have struck a blow with you. I watched you as you rode by close to the standard-bearer. Then there was a fierce fight, and men said you were cut down. Ah! I was only on foot, for we are too poor to ride; and I was—a little wounded," he added, dropping his eyes modestly, "and father led me away. But for that, Meah Sahib, I would have been with you, even on foot."
"Boldly spoken, and with a true heart, Ashruf!" exclaimed Fazil; "and if you do this errand carefully and quickly for me, you shall ride ever after with me in my troop—that is, if your father will permit it. Afzool Khan's stables have enough horses to find one for you. Of that, however, more hereafter. Go now to thehouse, ask for Goolab the nurse; tell her I am safe, but that Bulwunt Rao is wounded badly, and a palankeen must be sent for him with all speed, and my clothes and shawls put into it. If my father be asleep, he is not to be awakened, but my sister must know that I am safe. Now begone; here is my ring, which will pass you through the fort. Let us see how soon you will return."
"Come, Shékh Hoosein," said the lad, addressing a young man standing near; "we had better be two. Tie up thy waist-band tight, for we shall not draw breath till we reach the city gate. Come!"
Both loosened their waist-scarfs, and retied them tighter, and after a few words of caution from the Duffadar, they dashed down the street at full speed.
As they left, several of the men came in, leading the kullal by the end of his turban, with which his arms were tightly tied down. Bareheaded, covered with mud, and bleeding slightly from his nose, his face wearing an expression of fright and pain combined, Rama was a very different-looking person to what he had appeared when Fazil Khan and Bulwunt entered his shop. His first impulse was to cast himself on the ground before Fazil, and lie at full length moaning. The men who were with him did not interfere. The act was a deprecation of anger which it would have been unmannerly to deny.
"Get up," cried Fazil; "get up, knave and liar! Say, was it I who wounded that poor fellow yonder?"
"Pardon! pardon! Noble Meah, pardon! Your slave will not rise till he has pardon," cried the man abjectly. "It was all a mistake; and how could I know the son of Afzool Khan? Pardon! and I will tell all I know."
"If thou dost not, hound! thou wilt hang upon the highest branch of the Goruk Imlee to feed the crows before morn," replied Fazil. "Get up! If thou tellest the truth, I give thee kowl; if not—if I detect one word of lie, nothing can save thee. Dost thou hear? Rise!"
"Get up, Kafir!" cried the man who held the turban, giving it a jerk, which caused a corresponding exclamation of pain, "Don't you hear what my lord says to you? He will give you pardon if you speak the truth. Get up, and tell him all. My lord," he continued to Fazil, "he knows much, and he has some papers which one of the fellows—Maloosray, he says—dropped as he left the house. We wanted them, but he said you would pardon him if he gave them himself. We found him hiding in the wood stack near his still, and the fool must needs struggle and try to wrestle with one of our men, and so got a fall; but he is not hurt."
"Loose my arms, noble Meah—tell them to loose my arms. They are swelling already, and I am sick with pain," said the kullal, rising.
"If my lord allows me, I will loose him. There!" continued the soldier, on receiving Fazil's sign in the affirmative; "see thou speak the truth, else I will tie them tighter than ever, and they will not be loosened again while thou art alive."
"My lord, don't threaten me, or I shall lose my senses," said the kullal, the horrible vision of hanging, as he had seen many hang to the branches of that famous tree, coming vividly to his mind. "If there be a good Hindu among you, give me a drink of water. Ah, my arms! my arms!" he cried, sitting down again, and sobbing as the rope was loosened.
"Here is water," said one of the men, advancing with a brass vessel full. "I am a Rajpoot—drink."
The draught refreshed him, and he began his tale. It was in the main correct, and as we have already related it. "Tannajee and his companions had been at his shop only a few minutes before Fazil and Bulwunt came in. They had been very careful, and before they entered the house placed scouts to watch all the approaches. They spoke in low tones, and, beyond a few words now and then, he had caught nothing of their conversation. All that he could gather was, that Pahar Singh and a Gosai from Tooljapoor were expected, and they were so impatient for their arrival, that two of the men had by turns gone to see after them."
"Had they ever been at your shop before?" asked Fazil.
"Yesterday one of the men was there twice to say the place would be wanted in the evening," replied the kullal; "and he gave me ten rupees to say I had neither spirits nor ganja; so I told every one I had none, and no one stayed but you."
"You might have suspected they were after no good," said the Duffadar. "Why did you not give warning here?"
"Ah, sir, I am a poor fellow," returned the man, "with a large family; and if gentlemen sometimes like a private room to smoke, to play, or to talk in, am I to forbid them? Would they not get it elsewhere?"
"True enough—thou art not to blame," said Fazil; "but the papers—what of them?"
"After you were taken away, my lord," replied the kullal, "I took the lamp inside towards the door, for I thought I saw blood on the ground, which indeed there was; and one of the two men who escaped must have been wounded. I followed the trace of blood to the door of the yard, and there I found this little bag, noble sir; here it is."
As he spoke he produced a small silken bag, apparently filled withpapers, from under his waist-cloth, and handed it to Fazil. In it were several letters, and bundles of accounts written in the Mahratta character.
"I cannot read these, and they may be of importance; so we must wait, for this poor fellow of mine is asleep," said Fazil.
"No, Meah, I was dozing while you spoke, and am easier now, for the bandage has cooled my wound. Papers? What papers?" said Bulwunt, rising slightly, and supporting himself on his left arm. "Give them to me."
"There are some in Mahratta, which Tannajee, or one of his companions, dropped in their flight. Can you make out what they are, Bulwunt?" asked Fazil.
"I will try, Meah; put the light here. Stay; open them separately. I forget that I have but one arm now."
The papers were given to him one by one, and his eye glanced over several in succession as if of no importance; but one appeared to interest him greatly, and Fazil observed his eyes return, to the commencement after having looked over it hastily, and his lips to move as if reading it word by word, while the expression of his face changed to one of intense concern.
"Yes, Meah, this is indeed important," he said; "but no one must hear it but thyself or thy father. Listen," he continued, whispering; "that is from the old Gosai at Tooljapoor, about those letters the King has obtained. Those whom they concern are mentioned in feigned names, and it will puzzle me not a little to understand their meaning fully; but we have a clue in what occurred at the temple, and I will unravel it when we get home. Now my eyes are too weary. Stay, there may be something from Sivaji.... No," he continued, after he had looked at them one by one, "there are none from him, but several from Yessjee, who is his friend. No, they are too wary to write letters; but no doubt there is much intrigue afoot, Meah—much."
"Enough," replied Fazil; "now go to sleep, Bulwunt, till daylight brings people from the house. I too will rest, if I can, after all this excitement, with your permission, Duffadar Sahib——"
But the old man had lain down on the floor while the papers were being examined, and was fast asleep; so also were the men of the guard, except one sitting at the doorway as sentinel, the gurgle of whose hooka mingled with an occasional snore from a sleeper on the floor. Those about the kullal, who had been removed to a little distance, asked how he was to be disposed of.
"Take him to his house," said Fazil, "and keep him there till he is wanted. Go with them, Rama," he continued to the man, "and be ready when I send for thee. I will answer to the Kótwal for the night's events."
"That is all I wanted," he replied. "My lord is very kind and merciful."
"Not yet. I have much to ask and much to hear. If thou canst speak the truth, well for thee; if not, beware!"
How slowly and wearily night passes when a sense of impending evil overpowers sleep, and renders every faculty sharply sensible to sounds and impressions otherwise of ordinary occurrence,—when a thousand vague phantasies flit before the imagination hardly more definite than the keenly-painful thoughts they awaken! How difficult thus to endure delay or uncertainty, and to account for causes of either, so as to gain consolation or assurance to one's self, far less to impart comfort to others whose fears and apprehensions are perhaps greater than our own.
Thus heavily was hour after hour counted by Afzool Khan and his fair daughter in the apartment we have already described. The Khan busied himself, or seemed to do so, with a pile of Persian papers, on some of which, from time to time, he made notes: but it was easy for his daughter to see that his eye often followed vacantly the lines of the writing, and that his thoughts wandered far from the subjects before him.
The Khan's wife, Lurlee, had come, and been dismissed with an injunction not to interrupt him, and that he should be late. Zyna did not disturb her father, and found a partial occupation in some embroidery, which helped to dispel for a time her fears for her brother; gradually, however, as the night wore on, it was easy for her to see that her father's anxiety increased. It was true that Fazil's return was not expected till after midnight; but that, under the thought of his perilous errand, brought no consolation with it, and she sat watching the expression of her father's countenance, yet not so as to be observed, and withdrawing her eyes when he looked up. A few careless words fell from time to time from both, and a few entreaties by the Khan to his daughter that she would take rest, were met by requests that she might be allowed to share his watch, for that she had promised her brother to await his return.
Thus midnight came, and with it sleep to the young girl, that would not be denied. She had folded her scarf about her person, and lay down where she was; and her father now watched his sleeping child, almost wondering at her beauty, as the light fell upon her, and projected a shadow from the long eyelashes upon her soft downy cheek. So, with the image of the dead before him—for heremembered her mother even such an one as her child—Afzool Khan's thoughts wandered far back into the past,—far back to the time when, with life before him and easy competence, the servant of a noble and united kingdom, the future had not concerned him, save only to wish that the happiness he possessed might endure.
But that bright future was long past. The present was dark, uncertain, menacing. Had there been any one to listen, the bitter sob of the old Khan—a sob of exquisite pain as his thoughts alternated between the happy past and a gloomy future—might have been heard,—such pain as those alone can know whose affections and memories of the past arise most vividly to augment any new suffering that may be present. The years of happiness in his home, which might have been his lot had his wife been spared to him, rose to the mind of Afzool Khan as a sad mockery; for though the grave had long held her whose fair form seemed renewed before him, it appeared almost as if she were again present to him in all her beauty.
"Thou art a fair blossom. May God love thee! May the holy saints keep thee! May thy mother watch thee, my child!" murmured the Khan, as he bent over his sleeping daughter. "Even such was thy mother in those first days, as guileless and as beautiful. Nay, thou art but the copy, Zyna. And had she but lived to see thee and thy brother as ye are it would have been well. Yet why not well as it is?" he resumed after a pause; "surely Fate is good whatever it be. If my heart warns me of coming ill—nay, if he too be gone from me, well; he is with her, and the old man will soon follow, and there will be peace, peace, peace! Yet I would live still a little for thee, my child—only for thee! else the first shot or keen sword-cut were welcome to Afzool Khan."
So he thought and watched, and at times gently fanned his child with the papers in his hand that her sleep might be the lighter, and again resumed his occupation of reading. All was silent, but the night wind sighed mournfully through the open trelliswork of the window, and seemed rising; and as he listened, there were mutterings of a coming storm.
Opening one of the small casements, he looked out. The city was dark beneath him, and still; even the dogs seemed to have gone to sleep. Far distant, the wailing howls of a pack of jackals came upon his ear fitfully, and again ceased as the sound was blown away by the wind. Over the face of the sky the wild dark clouds were now hurrying ragidly along, disclosing here and there a star, which was again as instantly hidden. In the west, the horizon was black and threatening, and the edges of a heavy bank of cloud, now fast rising, pile over pile, were illumined like burnished silver, as lightning flashed rapidly through them, lighting up the city, andthe bold domes and tall minarets of the mosques and mausoleums, with a sickly glare for an instant, to disappear as rapidly as a thought. One of the night-storms of the season was evidently approaching, and the cool fresh wind was grateful to the Khan, as he leaned forth and looked into the void of darkness abstractedly.
The papers he had been perusing had been the subject of consultation that day at the court between the King, his Secretary, and himself. They were reports from the governors of the west and north-west provinces—a country which Afzool Khan had governed some years before, and knew perfectly—and related to a growing disaffection and a rising spirit among the people of the mountain valleys, which could not be accounted for save by the intrigues and machinations of Sivaji Bhóslay and his adherents. Sivaji, as a restless youth, had before risen in petty insurrection, and had resisted small forces sent against him, but had renewed his fidelity to the State, and had been pardoned. Notwithstanding, however, he was believed to be active in evil designs; and report assigned to him constant communication and intrigue with the Moghul emperor Aurungzeeb, as well as endeavours, on his own account, to excite the people.
Afzool Khan was no indifferent spectator of these events. He was one of those who, with others of his rank, had received profuse promises from the Emperor during his first invasion of the kingdom; and though Aurungzeeb's intentions had not been finally declared, yet Afzool Khan knew that if he favoured his cause, even secretly, for the present, he was certain hereafter, should the Emperor prevail, of high rank and rewards far beyond those which he now possessed, and also that the weight and influence of a few men like himself would at once turn the scale against Beejapoor, which already trembled in the balance.
The Moghul party, he well knew, was strong in the city. Many who had been disappointed of court influence almost openly professed it: they had nothing to lose and everything to hope for. But there were others—like the prime-minister, Khan Mahomed, for instance—who, in the enjoyment of large estates, high commands, and immense wealth, still desired more; nay, even the partition of the kingdom, that they might hold what they possessed as independent princes.
Again, Aurungzeeb's zeal for the cause of his faith was a well-known element of his character. He was a strict Soonnee, who held the heretical belief of the Sheeas in hereditary hatred; and the sight of the noble domes of the mosques at Beejapoor filled him with a fervour of bigotry even stronger than the lust of territorial dominion, to subvert the royal house which held those detested tenets.
Afzool Khan was also an orthodox Soonnee. He looked with abomination upon the Sheea ceremonies at the great mosque. He could not join in prayer there, nor could he enter save with the certainty of being offended and insulted by the religious ceremonies of his King. It was equally certain that the doctrines he professed belonged to a strong party in the city, who on all possible occasions urged amalgamation of the country with the empire of Delhi, in order to insure the supremacy of their own creed. Yet he was true.
Like him, the minister Khan Mahomed had been faithful through many temptations; but of late, though he still preserved a fair and honest appearance with the young King, rumour had become busy with his name, and, intimate as was their friendship, the old Khan's trust in him was much shaken under an accumulated mass of suspicion, though, as yet, nothing definite had transpired. Hitherto also the minister's apparently unflinching adherence to what was feared to be a falling dynasty, and to a government which, under foreign invasion, and internal disunion and distraction, had become weakened, had retained Afzool Khan's respect and affection; for this, combined with Khan Mahomed's professed devotion to the young King, who, with excellent dispositions and a fair promise of ability, was yet without experience, formed a strong bond of union between them.
Private friendship, and the free intercourse of camps and battle-fields, had existed for many years; and as their children grew up together, and the beauty of Zyna became notorious, the minister's son, whom we have already mentioned, pressed upon his father, very importunately, the necessity of formally asking her in marriage. But under his own secret hopes of the eventual ascendancy of the Moghuls, and his convictions that the obstinate fidelity of Afzool Khan would sooner or later lead to a serious breach between them, the minister had as yet refrained from taking any steps in the matter; and on his own part Afzool Khan had been equally guarded.
The events of the night, however, would disclose the real tendency of the Wuzeer's conduct; and the thought that there were grounds of more than ordinary suspicion, could not fail to increase the feeling that he was actually guilty, which for some time past had lain at Afzool Khan's heart. He had fancied, too, a growing coldness on the part of the Wuzeer towards him, unlike the spirit of their former free and unrestrained intercourse; and he could not fail to observe, in his visits to his court, that men to whom rumour attached the same suspicions as to the Wuzeer, were preferred as counsellors to himself.
All this, however, had as yet produced no personal disagreement: it was only mistrust, arising from suspicion on both sides; but the Wuzeer well knew that, if his designs were discovered for certain inany degree, he should find in Afzool Khan a powerful and bitter enemy, whose fiery temper and habit of prompt action would make him a far more dangerous enemy than the young King himself. No one, also, knew better than the Wuzeer the temptations to which Afzool Khan had been exposed, and through which he had come as yet unsullied. He knew that in the Moghul army many ties of clanship and acquaintance existed for the Afghan, which the service of Beejapoor did not afford, and that the Emperor, desiring to gain one so faithful, brave, and skilled in the field, who was also a Soonnee, had offered rank, titles, and estates, with his personal friendship and confidence, as yet in vain.
There had been times when Afzool Khan, wearied by petty slights, uncertain as to the future existence of Beejapoor as a kingdom, and comparing the wide field of honour in the imperial service with the narrow circle of Beejapoor, had felt tempted to accept these offers. But the thought had been as often repelled, and had led to a more steadfast and more healthy attachment to the young King; and when Ali Adil Shah, who had but recently succeeded his father Mahmood, displayed the possession of vigour and manly thought, and his disposition and talent appeared really equal to the maintenance of his dignity,—Afzool Khan's fidelity was no longer doubtful, and his openly-evinced confidence in his King had rallied the wavering attachment of many.
A more than ordinary proof of this had been that day given by the King in public Durbar. The Wuzeer was then absent from Beejapoor on service, watching the frontier, with a force to oppose Moghul incursions; and the King had, as an unusual act, invited Afzool Khan into his private chamber, to discuss the contents of the letters of which we have already seen the Khan in possession. They were many, and on many subjects; and the King's trust in the old noble could not have been more heartily evinced than by permitting him to take them home for perusal alone.
They were a tangled skein of intrigue, alarm, and disaffection, of exaggerated rumour and detail of actual occurrences, which were not without signification in the aggregate. If, in reliance on the gradually increasing ability of the King, Afzool Khan had no longer hesitated, but, with the sincerity of an open and faithful heart, showed that he for one no longer doubted, and that his allegiance would be true—others as high in rank, and holding equal or greater territorial possessions, were not so; and, as we have already stated, there was much disaffection, not only in the city, but in the army, and also in the provinces.
So long as the Moghuls had beleagured Beejapoor, men of all parties, and, we may add, creeds also, had united in the common bond of self-preservation; well knowing the plunder and devastationwhich would ensue if the city were taken by storm or in the course of actual war. This also had been foreseen by the Emperor; and his advices from the traitors within, at the head of whom was the Wuzeer, led him to the conclusion that nothing was to be gained by open force at present. Enough that the seed of disaffection had been sown, which he trusted would, in a comparatively short period, bear the fruit he desired. On these considerations, Aurungzeeb had raised the siege, and lay at a distance in seeming inaction; nevertheless watching the course of events not only with eagerness, but with astute foresight and untiring intrigue. Emissaries were busy in the city, and among the wavering and discontented gained many converts. Money, promises and assurances of protection were freely lavished, not only among the courtiers, but among the frontier chieftains, powerful tributaries, feudatories, and zemindars, who possessed influence over the people, and wherever else it was possible. Village authorities were also canvassed; hereditary rights and immunities guaranteed, with confirmation of former grants from the Beejapoor princes.
All such were openly encouraged to revolt, to withhold payment of revenue, and to harass the government of the State by every means in their power. During the confusion attendant upon the Moghul invasion, many districts had been wrested from the State which could not be regained except at great cost and by the employment of separate forces, which weakened the general efficiency of the army. In some instances, those who had recovered and held such districts, had themselves retained possession of them, fortifying the village ghurrees or castles, occupying and repairing hill-forts, under pretence of assisting the King's cause, but in reality to strengthen their own positions. Of such, was the Mahratta prince, Sivaji Bhóslay.
The letters which Afzool Khan was perusing were of the tenor consequent upon such events. They were chiefly from governors of provinces, forwarding reports from their subordinates to make their own views more intelligible. Most applied for the assistance of fresh troops, permission to raise local levies, and funds to pay them; while they gave accounts of opposition and imperial intrigue, which were only too certain and progressive. Others detailed plots and rumours, or preparations for revolt which should be checked.
Around Beejapoor itself there was perhaps no apprehension; but everywhere at a distance the same confusion existed, and it seemed to Afzool Khan as though it were impossible to provide against the spread of growing disaffection which, if he had before only partially guessed, was here developed in all its hideous and most perplexing detail. Letter after letter was thus read and thrown aside, till, weary of the subject, and sick at heart with apprehension, unable also todetermine upon any definite course of state policy, he had put aside the correspondence, and was reviewing the detail in his own mind as he looked out on the city from the window.
The question to be determined in particular was as regarded the condition of the country to the west and north-west, which heretofore had given no cause for alarm. When Afzool Khan himself had governed it, he found the people, if ruder in manner than those nearer the capital, yet peaceable and industrious farmers; and beyond checking local feuds, there was little need for exertion or apprehension of any kind. Now the governor wrote of large assemblages of armed men, of habitual indifference to the authority of the officers of the State, and of the growing influence of Sivaji Bhóslay, before which he felt it next to impossible to maintain his own position or collect the revenue, much less to bring him to subjection.
The latest letters, too, described emissaries from the imperial camp having been traced in disguise to Sivaji's strongholds among the mountains, and an increasing belief among the people that he was destined to become a great prince for the subversion of all Mahomedans; while it was very evident that, by some secret means, they were being organized either to revolt for Sivaji himself, or in the cause of the Emperor.
The writer was a personal friend of Afzool Khan's—one whom he had no reason to believe would write either from fear or from an incorrect view of existing circumstances; and on this account his recent letters had not only become more important, but in a higher degree more interesting. He had forces at his disposal sufficient to repress any outbreak, but his knowledge of the people and the country, and the use they might be put to by the Emperor against the State at any critical moment, had confirmed apprehensions under which he had written, temperately but firmly, to the King, not to neglect or underrate those signs of the times; and to seek among the counsellors and nobles at Beejapoor such advice in respect to the prevention of local disaffection as might be practicable.
"If Fazil is right," murmured the Khan to himself, as he revolved these questions in his mind, "we may obtain confirmation of the designs of the Mahrattas and the Emperor, which will assist the comprehension of these letters. But it is strange that they have any common cause, or that such discordant elements should unite, even with the hope of mutual assistance."
A low cry from his daughter aroused him from his reverie. As he drew himself within the lattice, Zyna had raised herself, and was looking about scared and half awake. "Fazil!" she said. "O father, I dreamed I saw him laying before me, looking as though he were dead, and then he seemed to change to you; and I was terrified and screamed out."
"Be calm, Zyna," he replied, supporting her tenderly; "thou hast been much excited, and needest rest, and no wonder that an evil dream came to thee. Fear not; he is safe, and I am beside thee."
"Safe, father? then he is returned, and I have been sleeping carelessly."
"No, daughter, he is not come yet. He has most likely taken refuge from the storm, which was severe."
"In my dream I heard the thunder, father, but it seemed as though it were cannon. I marvel that I slept through all."
"And soundly too, Zyna; but look, the morning will be fair for their return," and he opened the casement.
The black pall of clouds which had hung over the city had passed away, and the wind had fallen, except a cool gentle breeze which blew freshly in at the window, and rustled among the foliage of the garden. Here and there the silence was broken by a gentle and distant murmur in the city, for, early as it was, some were already astir.
"I will watch now, father," said Zyna; "surely you have not slept at all. I am quite rested, and will wait for Fazil."
"It is near the third watch of the night, Zyna; thou art not afraid to be alone if I sleep? If Fazil come not before dawn, I will mount the Paigah, and we will soon bring him to thee; but I have no fear now, and say this only to content thee. I will try and rest my head for a while, daughter; for it is weary, and these papers have caused me much thought." So saying, he lay down on the divan where he had been sitting, covered his face with a shawl which Zyna gently cast over him, and at once fell into a deep slumber.
Zyna sat beside her father, trimming the lamp as it needed, wondering much at Fazil's strange absence, and occasionally taking up one of the papers with which her father had been occupied, and reading it vacantly. Zyna could read, which was unusual in girls of her age and class: and, originally of a studious character, she had learned enough Persian with her brother from their old teacher, a superannuated secretary, to be of use both to her father and brother; more especially to her father in his confidential correspondence. Apparently she found nothing to interest her very much, for she laid down letter after letter after reading the superscription, and looked out through the lattice impatiently, as it were, for the coming dawn. The bright morning star now appeared above the tops of the trees,and a glow overspread the whole east—the false dawn; which, while it as yet gave no definite form to the surrounding objects, yet relieved the extreme darkness of the night. As Zyna sat, she fancied she heard a sound of voices at the gate, but it died away. It could not be her brother; he would have been admitted at once. Again, as she listened, and the silence seemed painful, the murmur was renewed, and she started up.
"It is he—Fazil is come!" she cried eagerly to her father, awaking him. "O, father, go to meet him; would I could go myself!"
Afzool Khan listened from the window, and Zyna could see that the expression of his face increased in gladness, and the revulsion in her own heart caused agitation which she could not restrain.
"He is not come," said her father; "it may be some messenger. God grant there may be no evil tidings! Be calm, my child; I will go below and ascertain, and will return or send word about him!"
Hurrying down to the gate, he found the sentinel in altercation with the lad we have before mentioned. It was evident that the boy had been there some time, and the sentinel, being informed that his young lord was safe, had no idea of wakening any one before the usual hour of morning prayer. As Afzool Khan approached the gate alone, he heard the lad's earnest prayer for aid answered by a dogged refusal.
"Begone!" said the man through the wicket; "thy tale may be true enough, and the Sahib Zadah[8]may be where he is; but, look you, the great Khan Sahib is fast asleep, and cannot be awakened. Everybody is asleep; there is no woman here to send to him in the zenana. Begone therefore, or lay down at the gate. When morning prayer is over, thou shalt have speech of the Khan. Till it is broad daylight, I draw no bolt. If thou wilt not go, at least sit quiet, for there are gentleman in the guard-room here who might treat thee roughly if disturbed in their sleep."
The boy was turning away sadly, when the voice of Afzool Khan was heard calling from the inner court, as he unfastened the door leading to the larger one.
"Whose is that voice?—who speaks without?—why is he not admitted?" he asked.
"My lord," replied the man on duty, "the Sahib Zadah is not here, but there is a boy who says he knows of him."
"Was it well, Yousuf, to turn him away?" asked Afzool Khan. "Suppose my son had had need of us."
"Nay; but my lord slept, and the Sahib Zadah was safe. Bulwunt Rao only is wounded—and there were no women to send—and I did but tell him to wait," stammered the man.
"No matter—where is the boy? Open the wicket," said Afzool Khan impatiently.
"He does not consider who may be behind it," said the soldier, as he unfastened the ponderous iron bars and unlocked the padlock of the wickets, "and that this may be but a device to attack the gate. But he will always be headstrong."
"I am here, Khódawund," said the lad, from without, and squeezing himself through the opening between the wicket-door and the chain which fastened it. "Behold I am now before you, valiant sir," he said to the sentinel, "whom you took to be a thief; but I would have speech of the noble Afzool Khan himself, if it be possible to have him aroused."
"I am he," returned the old Khan, stepping forward. "Speak on, if what there is to be told may be said before these men;" for several had now arisen, saluted their master, and were standing by him.
The boy touched the old Khan's feet reverently. "Fear not, noble sir," he said hastily, "for the Sahib Zadah is safe. He met with no hurt, though he was in danger."
"Ul-humd-ul-illa!—Praise be to God," broke from the old man fervently, and was heartily re-echoed by all around; for men were arriving every moment from the different portions of the court, and crowding round to hear the news. "Ul-humd-ul-illa! O holy Geesoo Duraz!"[9]he continued, looking up, "I vow fatehas to thy tomb, and a new covering shall it have of the costliest cloth-of-gold. But go on, boy, and fear not. Is there aught for my private ear?"
"Nothing, my lord—nothing. There was a fray, and Meah Sahib's attendant or friend was badly wounded. I want a palankeen for him; that is all."
"And my son—why did he not come with thee? And who art thou?" asked the Khan.
"They call me Ashruf, and I am the son of Peer Mahomed Duffadar, and Meah Sahib could not come, because," added the lad, dropping his head, "he was my father's prisoner—and——"
"By the Prophet, but this is too much!" exclaimed the fiery old Khan. "Who art thou, knave, that dares to say the son of Afzool Khan is a prisoner to any one?"
"May I be your sacrifice, O Khan," returned the boy, nothing daunted, though the Khan's angry speech was re-echoed by all gathered around him. "May I be your sacrifice, there is no harm meant to your noble son, whom we all know and honour. He it was who in my hearing declared that, in order to save my father, he would attend the Kótwal's court; for it was but yesterday that the Kótwal swore he would have the right hand of the first brawler taken, cut off, and hung up in the chowke,[10]and that he would degrade the first officer who failed to apprehend those concerned in any riot. Be not angry, therefore, noble sir, for my father explained all this, and your son goes of his own freewill. My father could not help it, you know, my lord," added the boy, apologetically, "for a man had been wounded, and there was blood on your son's sword."
"Ay! Jehándar Beg is likely to be a man of his word, too," said the Khan to those about him, "and force will do no good. But it were as well that my son should be attended, I think. What say you, gentlemen? So be ready some twenty of you, and call up the spearmen; the palankeen and bearers, too, for Bulwunt Rao. We could ill spare him, poor fellow, from among us."
"Nothing could have happened if Meah had taken some of us with him," cried several of the men at once. "We all wanted to go," added Raheem Khan, "but he bade us mind our own business, and took Bulwunt Rao with him; and see what has come of ganja smoking."
"And Meah might have been wounded or killed," added several.
"My friends, there was need to do it," answered Afzool Khan; "a secret service for the King cannot have too few witnesses. As to his life, or mine, or that of any of you, do we not eat the salt of the King, and should our lives be grudged? Peace, then, and hasten to get ready: the morn is fast breaking, and by daylight we should be in the saddle. Keep the boy; he must accompany us." So saying, he turned back into the private court in order to seek his daughter, who had followed him. Goolab had been beforehand with her, and had communicated the news in her own way, with many marvellous additions, while the Khan was giving his orders to the men. Now, therefore, on hearing her father's brief confirmation of Fazil's safety, all past anxiety was at once forgotten, and, with glistening eyes and a thankful heart, she clung to him as they entered the small court of the zenana apartments together.
By this time, too, Zyna's second mother, who as yet has been barely mentioned, had been aroused from her sleep by the prevailing bustle; and as she habitually indulged in long rests, and disliked early hours most particularly, she met the Khan and Zyna in a mood of very querulous character, which arose partly from having been robbed of a large portion of sleep, and partly from having heard Goolab's exaggerated report of Fazil's danger. Now, the good lady had not even known of his going out, nor, as her lord had requested not to be disturbed, of the manner in which the weary night had passed.
"Blessed be the holy saints that he is safe!" was the exclamation of Zyna, as she threw herself upon the lady's neck; "there will be no delay now, and my father will bring him to us. O mother, are you not thankful?"
"It was well done of thee, Khan," cried the lady ironically, disengaging herself from Zyna, and not heeding her words, "to send that poor boy out in such a night as the last has been. Such thunder and lightning! Naked, too, I hear—to run the chance of cold and wounds. Ugh! and thou sayest thou hast a father's love for him? Toba! toba! I swear to thee, had he been my son, he should never stir out without my permission. I would take care of that. He should not go hence, Khan Sahib, until I knew that the planets were propitious—a thing—Alla defend us!—that some people care as little about as—as ... and then to think what a tempting of destiny it was to send the boy from home without asking or caring for the positions of the stars, or finding out whether there was not an adverse planet in a threatening house. As it is, we hear that Fazil is wounded—that is, he might have been; and that Bulwunt Rao has had his head cut off—that is, nearly, for he has a horrible cut in his neck, and his head is hanging all on one side; and," she continued, wiping her eyes with the end of her scarf, and in a whimpering tone, "all this comes of not asking me. What am I in the house but less than a dog? O Khan——"
"Peace, Lurlee!" returned Afzool Khan tartly. "What cross words are these so early in the morning? Enough for thee that the boy is safe, and that we have subject for thankfulness in his escape from danger, and not of sorrow. Peace! is it thus Alla should see thee after His mercy? Fazil will be here presently, and will tell thee perhaps as much as I know."
"Ay, perhaps!" retorted Lurlee. "I, who am less than a cat in the house, and as gentle as a sheep, am thus treated! O Khan! shame upon thee that I know everything only when it is stale, and comes to me through the bazar! Are not all your goings and comings hidden from me? and now I hear you and Zyna sat up all night together; and I was told you were not to be interrupted, and had to eat my dinner by myself, and to get to sleep as best I might. O Khan! am I less than nobody? I who am of the family of——"
"Thou wouldst only have been anxious and fretful, Lurlee," returned the Khan soothingly. "The planets would have troubled thee. We meant only well in not telling thee. It was an urgent matter, and we could not wait for the astrologer to read the tables for us, or tell us what star was in the ascendant. Go, see after some breakfast, or whatever can be got for Fazil; we may be detained, and I'll warrant he is hungry enough already. We cannot wait for lucky hours sometimes, but must take what Alla sends us."
"I will not go, Khan. I will not be put off with empty words," she cried, angrily; "and if you do not choose to read the stars, what does it signify? are not the consequences of your error on your own head? When was it that the stars were aught in your eyes? Have I not read you many a warning, which, had it been heeded, would have saved much trouble—much! When Fazil went forth to battle, did I not warn you not to let him depart? and did he not come home wounded and senseless? And when I told you one day, when one of the horses died, that something bad must befall us because of the evil aspect of the stars, I was only laughed at. Is this true or false? And yesterday, if I had but been asked beforehand, could I not have told all that was going to happen? Behold!" and the lady drew from her bodice a table regularly constructed to aid her astrological predictions and researches—"behold! were not Saturn and the Moon in conjunction? Is not that bad enough? and cannot you see that is the reason why Bulwunt Rao, poor fellow, has had his head cut off?"
"Peace, Lurlee!" again cried the Khan, to whom his wife's astrological wisdom had long proved a serious annoyance. "If all the planets in the sky had come together for good or evil, Fazil must have gone last night, for it was an errand of life or death. Now all is safely over, go and prepare some sheernee for distribution, and be thankful for what is, rather than anxious about the stars——"
"Toba, toba!" exclaimed the lady, interrupting him; "for shame, for shame! O Khan, to blaspheme the stars! May your sin be forgiven!"
"Nay, mother, but he did not blaspheme," urged the gentle voice of Zyna. "He did but mean that Fazil was safe everywhere; for thou knowest, dear mother, that he is in the hands of Alla, and that the blessed Alla is above all."
"He is not above the stars," retorted the lady angrily, and over-anxious to establish the truth of her favourite superstition—"that is, He—I mean—He is above them; but then——"
"Ah, Lurlee; better leave them alone," cried the Khan, laughing. "Art thou not sinking deep into the mire of thine own conceit, lady? Well, thou art welcome to them if they will teach thee not to be wilful, and not to do thine own desire, which is ever ill controlled and variable; and as to their being higher than Him who made them—why, I have no more to say."
"I said no such thing," retorted the lady doggedly; "but it is ever thus. Take care, Khan, of wilful disregard of warnings."
"Another time, perhaps, wife. Now we cannot delay, for the Kótwal has got hold of Fazil, and that is worse than an adverse conjunction of planets. But fear not," he added, seeing that the countenance of Zyna betrayed alarm; "a word from me, and he will be released."
"If he is not, I will go to my cousin the Wuzeer's wife, and beg for him," replied Lurlee.
"Ay, in spite of the stars? Well, well, beebee, I hope it will not be needed," said the Khan cheerily. "We are not yet come down to asking favours of our cousins' wives. No, Lurlee; keep thine interest for another time, and see to it that thy cousin doth not require thine aid ere thou hast to ask hers."
"Impossible, Khan!" cried the lady sharply. "Thou art pleased this morning to underrate my poor self and my relations. It is well, O Afzool Khan!" (she meant to be very impressive when she called him by name)—"it is well—I say it is very well, that you speak thus. See to it that thou, too, want no aid from them."
"I do not need them, Lurlee," replied the Khan. "As to their aid to me—nay, be not angry—I have not much hope of it; and for the rest, if I am right in what I think, there is evil impending over the Wuzeer's house, which all the stars will not tell thee of, nor him either. May the saints avert it! If it be true, thou shalt know of it ere many hours be past, and we will try to aid him; but at present let there be peace between us. By-and-by thou wilt say to Fazil, It was well done, though our news may not please thee. Go, girl, bring me my sword," he continued to Zyna. "Bring a shawl too, for the morning air is chilly."
Zyna was glad to escape, for, in truth, bickerings such as we have noted were too frequent in the house to be very tolerable, and sometimes one side, sometimes the other, was in fault; most frequently perhaps, the lady, who, having had no children of her own to care for, and having in her youth been instructed in Persian, had turned to divinity and astrology with great zeal. In the latter she had indeed great faith, and professed herself able, as no doubt she was willing, to direct all affairs of the house, as also of the state, by planetary influences. Thus, no event could happen without its being, to her perception, plainly written in the book of destiny, which the light of the planets rendered easy reading; and if a dish happened to break, or a cow or bullock died, or a horse had to be purchased or exchanged, or any household rejoicing made, or trouble endured, all were found to have connection with the planets, or to be the consequences of the lucky or unlucky days and hours of which her life was composed.
Lurlee Khánum being a scholar, was also an object of envy to many of her female friends, and was consulted by them upon various turns of their fortunes; and in regard to lucky colours for dress, lucky moments for putting on new clothes, settling matches and marriage days, the weaning of children, putting them into new beds, cutting their hair or nails, and the like domestic matters, she was an unquestionable authority. She, according to the rules laid downin her book, had written several charms, and given them to her friends, which, together with the virtues of certain herbs and medicines, had been the cause of relief to babies when cutting their teeth, and when they cried at night, or had bad dreams, or infantine ailments; and had been efficacious also in averting evil spirits, evil eyes, and the envious wishes of others.
For these accomplishments—especially her skill in astrology, which was believed to be very wonderful, indeed almost a special revelation—Lurlee Khánum was held in vast respect by all classes in her quarter of the city; and her opinions and interpretations of the stars were decidedly preferred to those of Meer Anwur Ali, the old Moolla of the public mosque nigh at hand; and a considerable feud existed between them in consequence. For the Moolla considered her as an interloper, and as one by no means instructed or qualified to have converse with what she professed, whether astrology or medicine; and had been known to say, irreverently no doubt, that more people died of Lurlee Khánum's medicines than the angel of death knew what to do with. In short, Lurlee Khánum, the second wife of Afzool Khan, was a much more popular person than the first had been; who, being a foreigner, and absorbed in her husband and children, cared little about her neighbours; whereas her successor was in most respects the exact reverse.
Lurlee Beebee had once been handsome. She was of somewhat dark complexion, but had very large lustrous eyes, with a prominent nose, and had not escaped marks by smallpox, though they were not disfiguring. When the Khan married her, her figure was perfect; but she had lately, much to her mortification, increased in size; and though she took many infallible receipts to prevent fat, it would accumulate. For many years she had had hope of children, and had made vows to all the shrines in Beejapoor, had sent gifts to those at Allund, Gulburgah, and Gôgi, and had vowed to make vast distributions of money, and to do other charitable acts, if her prayers were granted. Now she began to fear she had no chance, which had vexed her not a little, and had combined, with other troubles, to give a sour, grim expression to her countenance, which rarely left it.
There were times, however, when she was bright and pleasant; for, really kind at heart, few had greater powers of pleasing than Lurlee Khánum; but as her husband became more and more occupied with public affairs, estrangement had begun, and was progressing. There was one fear which had beset Lurlee for many years—that her lord, seeing she had no children, would marry again; and the idea of a sister-wife was very intolerable: this, however, had passed away. The Khan was advancing in years, his children were growing up, and she had no fear of another usurping what affection remained, or interfering with her household management.
To the Khan's children Lurlee was fondly attached; indeed, they were now the principal links between her lord and herself. Their mother had died when they were of tender age; and, after Lurlee's hopes of children ceased, she took more kindly to them than before, and had done her duty by them. Nor did their father interfere with that deference to her judgment in matters concerning them, of which she had better knowledge; but her increasing faith in her own infallibility had begun to distress both, as they could not help estimating at its proper value the superstition upon which the majority of her acts and opinions were founded once for all.
Such was Lurlee Khánum, the only lady in the harem of Afzool Khan. Other nobles of his rank would have married as often as the law allowed, without reproach; but the old Khan's affections had seemingly died with Zyna's mother; and the excitement of war, of political events, and provincial government, together with the management of his fine estate of Afzoolpoor, had apparently filled his mind to the exclusion of other subjects.
In a few moments Zyna had returned, bearing the weapon, which her father took from her; and having entered the garden with her, they performed their ablutions in the mosque before mentioned, and went through the usual forms of the early prayer. The Khan then returned to the zenana, where Lurlee Khánum met him.
"I have put up some food in the palankeen," she said; "see that Fazil eats it. I would all this were safely over," she added, after a pause. "Thou art not angry with me, Khan—with your Lurlee? do not go forth angry with me, my lord."
"No, no! not angry, dear one," returned the Khan, much moved and softened. "I am not angry, but impatient; forgive me, Lurlee. Alla keep you till I return: and you too, my child! Fear not; I will bring him safely to both of you."
The Khan's horse awaited him in the outer court, and with it a strong troop of his best horsemen, with a company of spearmen, whose combined force seemed enough to have rescued Fazil, had there been need. Afzool Khan was greeted heartily by all, and as he cast his eye over the group of steady and oft-tried retainers, he felt that confidence which results from habitual companionship with others, and that no danger could reach Fazil which they could not share or overcome. The greeting was as heartily returned as given; and the gates being thrown open after a few questions to his son's messenger, and preceded by him and the band of spearmen who ran before his horse, Afzool Khan and his retainers pushed forward at a rapid pace.
It was now broad daylight, and the freshness of the morning, and its clear bright atmosphere, rendered every object more beautiful than it had been before the rain. Every stately mosque and minaret,palace and mausoleum, with their bright gilded spires, caught the fast-increasing light, and stood out boldly against the clear eastern sky; while the rich foliage of the trees, unmoved by any wind as yet, hung in heavy masses, and seemed refreshed by the moisture they still retained. As they passed the various gardens, the rich fragrance of tuberose, lime, and orange flowers loaded the air almost to excess; while the very ground gave forth that refreshing earthy scent which, in India, after rain, mingles so peculiarly and yet so gratefully with every other perfume. Few persons were yet abroad; and with the exception of an occasional devout Mahomedan proceeding to early morning prayer at the mosque—a young rake, with a small band of sword-and-bucklermen, returning from the night's questionable companionship—a few humble carriers of fruit and vegetables coming from villages without the walls to the morning market, with here and there small companies of travellers starting on their daily journey,—all was silent and deserted; and the heavy tramp of the horsemen, as they proceeded at a rapid pace, sounded strange and suspicious at that unusual hour.