FOOTNOTE:[20]Khundojee Kakrey's escort of the ladies of Afzool Khan's family to Kurrar became known to Sivaji, and he was tried and beheaded for—as it was esteemed—the act of treason.—Mahratta Chronicle.
[20]Khundojee Kakrey's escort of the ladies of Afzool Khan's family to Kurrar became known to Sivaji, and he was tried and beheaded for—as it was esteemed—the act of treason.—Mahratta Chronicle.
[20]Khundojee Kakrey's escort of the ladies of Afzool Khan's family to Kurrar became known to Sivaji, and he was tried and beheaded for—as it was esteemed—the act of treason.—Mahratta Chronicle.
A few steps further on, and Kakrey turned the ponies into a side street, and stopped at the handsome gateway of a respectable house. The steps up to the entrance being easy, the active mountain animals scrambled up them in turn, and their riders were thus taken at once into the first court. Then, when the gates were closed, Goolab lifted them from their seats; and the men, who had remained without, took possession of the guard-room inside the first archway, which, while it afforded ample accommodation, enabled them to continue their protection to the last.
Once more in private, and their mufflings removed, and as Goolab led Lurlee into the second court, they were met by a lady of middle age, who, attended by several servants, advanced and saluted them cordially, yet with a peculiar reverence.
"The wife and daughter of Afzool Khan are welcome to our poor house. O lady! why did you not advise me of your coming?"
"Who art thou?" asked Lurlee faintly, "and who told thee of us?"
"My husband was at his office in the bazar," replied the lady, "and some men came asking for shelter for noble travellers who were very weary. He asked who they were, and was told of you. O lady, your steps are fortunate, and Alla hath led you here to do us honour. Many benefits hath my lord received from the noble Khan, and there is much to repay—very much."
"Have you hot water for a bath, lady?" cried Goolab, interrupting her, "and some decent clothes instead of these, and some food that noble ladies can eat? They will be better than fine words. Alas! that for the last four days we have eaten dry parched pease, dry bread, garlic, and porridge—unblessed food, O lady; and my mistress, you see, is ill of it, and talking to her won't cure her!"
"Fear not," replied the dame, smiling; "we have had scant notice, yet we may do something," and she was as good as her word. Hot water to bathe with, was quickly prepared, and clean refreshing clothes; and the rubbings and kneadings of several young girls relieved their weary aching limbs. Soft cushions were put down to lie on; and there was a hospitable, grateful hostess ministering to every want. Even Lurlee's churlish humour was already softened by the attention paid to her; and she remembered, with satisfaction, in spite of her late disbelief, that the day was Thursday, and that, as she entered the house between five and six in the afternoon, the hour was ruled by Mercury, and was propitious.
About the same time, a body of horsemen—there might have been from two to three hundred of them—were approaching the town from the other side, through the camp which spread out irregularly among the fields and gardens. Their horses neighed frequently as they passed tents where others were picketed, seemingly envious of their rest and comfort; and the appearance of the whole party, jaded and wayworn, indicated a long weary march in a hot sun that day, which had now come to a close.
As they passed the first tents, the men loitering by the wayside asked carelessly who they were, and being told, followed them eagerly; while the news that one remnant of the noble host which had been so treacherously destroyed at Purtâbgurh had arrived, traversed the camp before them. As men of the Paigah of AfzoolKhan were recognized, many a rough heart swelled, many an eye filled with tears, as the horsemen proceeded: while crowds followed them, greeting old friends who had escaped, or tendering their respectful salutations to the young Khan, and congratulating him on his escape.
Bulwunt Rao and the hunchback were in front, and as they neared the town urged their horses on. "Wait for us at the gate; we will not be long, and will bring the water," cried the latter; and when Fazil reached it, a litter—which had been rudely constructed of a bed-frame and stout bamboo poles, covered with some coarse sheets—by which he had been riding, was set down. The men who had carried it were exhausted, and as they placed it on the ground, lay down themselves at a little distance.
Fazil dismounted and approached it. "Tara!" he said, "Tara! art thou asleep? We have arrived, and there is now no more fatigue or danger. O Tara, awake!"
The girl turned mechanically towards him, but did not seem to recognize him; her eyes were much glazed, and her lips cracked and parched. "Water," she said faintly.
"Alas! I dare not give it thee, Tara," he replied. "O my life—O beloved, look up! wait but till they return, and all will be well!"
She shook her head, and a smile, very sad and sweet, seemed to pass over her face, but she did not speak. Fazil looked out among the people passing to and fro; perhaps there might be a Brahmun among them, who could give her a few drops of water to moisten her mouth, but he saw none. How wearily the time seemed to pass! With what impatience did he watch the gate whence Lukshmun or Bulwunt Rao, on their double errand, should return; and with what misery did he look upon the poor girl, lying in heavy fever, without the means of relieving her! How he longed for his sister or Lurlee! but it might be days ere they arrived, and till then he must trust her to strangers.
It had been a weary day, indeed—a day of intense anxiety to all who accompanied him. Under the excitement of release from imminent death, and in the rapid ride of the afternoon of her rescue, Tara had borne the fatigue wonderfully; and as night set in, and they took some hurried rest among the corn-fields of a village, Fazil hoped that she would sleep, and be refreshed against the morrow; but it was not to be so. During the night the girl began to speak incoherently at times, and it was evident that she suffered from high fever. Still they must proceed; there was no delaying there. The tracks of his party were distinct, and a force of the enemy's horse might yet overtake them and destroy them if they tarried.
So, after feeding their horses on green corn-stalks, and themselvesobtaining a rough meal from the green heads of corn roasted in a fire, they again set forth. They had no other food, for they dare not stay to cook it, and they had avoided villages as likely to expose themselves to collision with the surly people. Once or twice, straggling parties of cavalry had been met; but they had passed without notice, and the farther they proceeded, the less chance there was of interruption. So far all was well; but Tara grew worse, and could no longer sit the horse on which she had been placed; so, in a village which was passed, a litter was contrived, a drink of milk obtained, and the party again set forward. Finally, they had arrived safely at Kurrar; but Tara now knew no one, she could not be roused to speak, and lay moaning piteously, as if in pain.
"When she gets water it will refresh her," thought Fazil, as he sat helplessly by her, praying, in his own simple fashion, that God would be good to him and spare her. "Weariness and the terror of death have caused this," he said to himself, "and rest alone can cure it."
At last Lukshmun returned with a Brahmun and some water, and the man, looking into the litter, shook his head hopelessly.
"She is dying," he said; "let her be taken out and placed on the ground, that her spirit may depart easily."
Fazil flung him away angrily. "She shall not die," he cried passionately; "give her the water—as much as she will drink." But it was of little avail,—she scarcely swallowed any, and motioned the man away with her head impatiently.
Then came Bulwunt Rao. "I had much ado to find the merchant," he said, "and when I did, he told me strange guests were already with him, and that he could not find room for a Brahmun woman. Nevertheless he yielded at last, and we are to go. I rode by the house. The porch was full of men, so we must seek shelter elsewhere. The merchant said he would meet you at the door of the house, but he does not yet know who you are. I did not tell him. I only said you were a nobleman of Beejapoor."
"And why did you not tell him?" cried Fazil, with some impatience; "he owed my father a thousand benefits."
"So much the better, Meah," returned Bulwunt, "and he looks as though he would repay them. Come, it is close by."
The bearers again took up the litter and carried it on. Fazil accompanied it on foot, holding the side; and at the same door which we have already described, stood a pleasant-looking man, dressed in flowing Arab robes and a green turban, and several servants behind him,—who saluted Fazil courteously as he stood aside for the litter to go by.
"Meer Jemal-oo-deen, if thou art he," said Fazil, "will have forgotten one whom he knew long ago."
"I have forgotten your face," returned the man, "yet you are welcome, and the peace of the Prophet be upon you. Who are you?"
"Fazil, the son of Afzool Khan," was the reply.
"O, great joy! O, thanks be to Alla!" cried the man, lifting up his hands, "and blessed be the saints and the Prophet who have sent thee. Embrace me, and come in quickly, for thy mother and sister have also been brought to us, and are safe within."
"Then she will live! they will save her!" cried the young man excitedly. "They will save her! O Meer Sahib, where are they?"
"Within, in the zenana," replied the merchant. "Sorely exhausted, I hear, but already better; and she?" and he pointed to the litter.
"No matter, sir," said Fazil, advancing; "all will be told you hereafter. She is much to them; but she is grievously shaken, and we lose time. She cannot speak, and is burning with fever."
"Ah, is it so? Then let her be carried in," and he clapped his hands. "Take that litter within at once," he said to the women who came; "then see to the lady who is in it."
Four stout women took up the litter, carried it into the inner court, and set it down.
Lurlee and Zyna were lying in an inner room, the door of which was open, and from whence the entrance to the court could be seen. "What can they be bringing in?" said Lurlee, as she saw the end of the strange litter entering the door. "A man following, too! Begone!" she screamed violently, hiding her face under the sheet; "begone! this place is private."
"Mother," cried Fazil, who heard her voice but did not see her; "it is I; and here is Tara. Come, O Zyna; where art thou? Come quickly to her."
O delicious joy! Lurlee, forgetting all her previous troubles, sprang from the bed on which she had been lying languidly, and Zyna followed; and they fell upon his neck with low whimpering cries, like dogs when they have found a lost master. Where was fatigue now?
Tara! It was far in the night ere consciousness returned to her. "No matter, Alla hath sent her again to us," said Goolab, whose ideas were always of the most practical description; "she is ours now, and we will bathe her." And some Brahmun women, who lived hard by, came and assisted. So, ere morning broke, Tara was lying on Lurlee's bosom sobbing gently: and, with her loving arms wound round her recovered treasure, Zyna was sobbing too.
Some three weeks after the events recorded in the last chapter, Zyna and Lurlee were sitting near the foot of the bed on which Tara was lying, and two Brahmun women—widows, as appeared from their shaven heads and coarse serge garments—sat on each side of it. One was fanning her gently. The bed was very low, hardly a foot from the ground, so that the women were seated on the floor, leaning against its frame. They had watched all night in pairs by turns, and the dawn was just about to break; but a small lamp, in a niche of the wall, threw a faint light over the room and the verandah beyond, and fell upon a figure lying there, covered in a sheet, which appeared, from its measured breathing, to be asleep. All four women were weeping silently, and their faces had that worn, haggard expression which is consequent upon long and continuous watching.
"When did he say he would come again?" asked Lurlee of one of the women in a whisper.
"They will both be here at dawn," said the woman addressed; "but they said they could do nothing now, unless she rallies of herself: medicine cannot help her; and still she sleeps."
"Look," said Zyna, with a tone of awe in her low voice, "if you can see her breathe. I have been watching for some time, and I cannot see the sheet over her move as it used to do. Mother! mother! she is not gone from us!"
"No, daughter," returned Lurlee, "she lives still, but she is near to death, fearfully near, and is in the hands of Alla. If she wake up restless, as she was before, we must put her on the floor, that the spirit may pass easily; but, as it is, we may yet hope, for there is rest now after her weariness, and she hath not asked for water all night. You have given her none, have you?" she asked of the women.
"No, lady," replied the elder of the two; "none since she went to sleep. It is near dawn, and if the soul had to pass it would be restless to go; yet she sleeps. We cannot move her, nor is there need; she breathes as gently as a child. Look!"
The woman took the lamp from the niche in the wall, and, shading it with her hand, yet so as to suffer a little light to fall on Tara's face, looked at it earnestly. "She smiles," she said in a whisper; "behold, lady, but do not rise, else it might wake her."
Lurlee and Zyna leaned forward and regarded her anxiously. Yes, the lips, though blistered with the parching heat of fever, seemed fuller and redder, and, as the sweet mouth was partly open, the light fell upon moisture on the white pearly teeth which glistened brightly. The cheeks were not so wan and sunken, and the eyes, instead of being partly open, with a dull glassy stare which, exceptwhen they flashed in delirium, had been their only expression for several days past, were now closed entirely, and the long eyelashes rested peacefully, as it were, on the cheek. One hand had been placed under her head, and the other lay across her bosom. Her breathing could scarcely be seen, and yet, if they looked intently, the arm across the bosom heaved slightly now and then, and as it were without excitement.
"It may be the flush of life which precedes death," said the woman; "yet then they do not often smile, nor dream. See, she is smiling again."
"Ah, there is no death in that smile, daughter! Look! O blessed saints, pray for her! O Prophet of God, she will be thy child soon; intercede for her, and have her spared! O holy Syud Geesoo Duraz! I vow a golden coverlet for thy tomb, and Fatehas to a thousand poor mendicants, if she be saved!" cried Lurlee, with clasped hands and streaming eyes. "O, give her to me! All have children but me, and this one strange child I took into my heart when ye sent her, and she abode there. O, take her not—take her not from me! What use would she be to ye now in her young life? Wilt thou not pray too, Zyna, for her?"
"Mother, I have prayed," replied Zyna earnestly. "Fazil hath prayed. We have vowed Fatehas to all the shrines, and to the holy Saint at Allund. Mother! I will send my gold anklets and her zone to the shrine there, if she but live, and will give her others."
So they watched and prayed, and saw the smile playing gently and sweetly over Tara's mouth and eyes. Was it to hear the whisper of the Angel of Death? It might be so, and then the last dread change would follow; the eyes would glaze and sink, the breathing become shorter and more difficult, and they must take her up and lay her down on the ground to die. Would it be so?
For many days Tara had lain between life and death. The great excitement she had passed through—during which her mind, strung by despair and superstitious belief, had sustained her—had passed away suddenly, and left its never-failing result in the utter prostration both of mental and physical power; and the exposure she had been subjected to in that wild night-ride from Wye, with the succeeding days of heat and fatigue, in the midst of constant alarm, had combined to produce severe fever. As she was lifted from the litter the evening she arrived by the women, she was entirely unconscious; but in Lurlee she had at once a skilful and loving nurse, and after a while she had recovered sufficiently to distinguish with whom she was, and to feel that the hideous insecurity of her life—nay, the imminent peril of a horrible and violent death—had passed away.
But after that short period of blissful recognition, and with the sound of Lurlee and Zyna's passionately endearing welcomes in herears, unconsciousness had returned, and she knew no more for many days. The burning fever, accompanied by low delirium, continued without intermission. Happily her mind retained its last pleasant impressions most vividly: and from time to time, Lurlee and Zyna heard her murmur to herself more of her deep love for Fazil than she would ever have dared to tell them, and they listened wonderingly to the strange mingling of his name with those of gods and demigods of her own faith, and to the impassioned expressions which broke from her in that wild, perhaps poetic, language, with which, from her own studies and her father's recitals, she had become familiar.
The doctors of the town were early summoned; and there was an old Gosai, known to the merchant's wife, who lived in a village near, whose repute for curing cases of fever was very great, and who was sent for, when the doctors' period of nine days' illness had elapsed without any relief. He declared the fever would last three weeks: and that, on the twenty-first day, or thereabouts, Tara would either live or die, for the disease was dangerous and difficult to subdue, but—he would do his best. So they sat and watched her day and night; life now seemingly trembling on her lips, and yet again rallying within her, and giving hope when otherwise there was none.
Now, too, under the long sleep, her features had relaxed; the skin had lost its unnatural tension and dryness, and a soft smile was there which looked like life; and still they prayed and made vows.
"No," said the woman, holding the lamp and watching Tara, "it is not death, lady—not yet. There is no change; and see, the smile, faint as it is, does not pass away. Surely there are sweet thoughts below it—thoughts, perhaps, of life. Let us wait and pray."
And still they sat, and, after their own fashion, humbly prayed too; and the morning broke, and Fazil, who, wearied by watching, lay outside, arose, performed his ablutions, and, with Zyna, spread their carpets, and performed the morning service. Then he watched in turn; and the doctors came, looked at the sleeping girl, and one of them gently put his hand on her pulse and felt it, and smiled, and nodded his head approvingly. "There is life in it," he said gently, "but it is very feeble. Wait till she wakes—that is the crisis of life or of death; but, perhaps—God knows—it may be life."
It may be life! Ah, yes! Many who read these pages will remember like scenes; watching the fluttering spirit of one most beloved—parent, or wife, or child—with an intense and wondering earnestness of misery or of hope, mingled with prayer: incoherent perhaps—no matter—yet going straight from the heart, up to Him in whose hands are the issues of life and of death, to be dealt with as He pleased. Is there none of this among the people we write of? Why not as much as among ourselves? The same motives exist there as here, the same deep ties of affection, the same interests, andthe same hopes and fears—often, indeed, more powerful as belonging to minds more impetuous, and less regulated by conventional forms. Then the hope is greater, the agony of bereavement more bitter, and the suspense between the final issue, perhaps, more unendurable.
So they sat around her. The kind, hospitable merchant's wife, with whom they still resided, came forth from her own court of the house, and, smiling as she saw Tara, bid them be of good cheer. No one spoke afterwards, but they watched the tranquil face; and the expressions still varying upon it, under the thoughts passing within, gave increasing hope of life.
It had been a sore struggle; but life at last was suffered to triumph over death. From the time when the weary tossing to and fro ceased, and the parched lips refused to speak even incoherently, and the deathlike sleep began, the exhausted frame had been gathering strength. More than a night, and nearly a day, had passed in hope and fear alternately to them, but in rest to Tara; and as the shadows were falling long towards the east, the sweet eyes opened to the full, and looked around.
They could see but dimly at first; but they read in the faces which at once turned towards her, now the most precious on earth, the assurance of that love, of which, as her spirit hovered on the threshold of the unknown eternal land, she had been permitted to dream. There was no fever now in those soft eyes—no glare, no glassy brightness: but dewy, and their deep brown and violet shaded by the long lashes, into an expression of dreamy languor—they seemed more beautiful by far than they had ever appeared before, and Fazil thought, as his creed suggested, that those of a Houri of the blessed Paradise, or a Peri angel of the air, could not be more lovely. None of them could speak then; but the tears were falling fast from their eyes in great and irrepressible emotion, as they stretched forth their arms to welcome Tara to life.
"My child! my life!" cried Lurlee, sobbing, who was the first to find utterance. "Now, God hath given thee to me again, and I will never leave thee—never. O, do not speak; it is enough that we see thee come back to us, more precious, and more beloved than ever!"
Tara attempted to reply, but was too feeble. They saw her lips moving, but no, words could be heard. She tried to stretch forth her hand to Zyna, but she could not lift it. Zyna saw the attempt, and threw her arm round her. "Not now, beloved," she said—"not now. Lie still and rest; we are all near thee, and will not go away."
So more days passed, and Tara grew stronger, though slowly. The shock to mind and body had been very heavy, and needed long rest and much care; but she was in tender hands, and gradually, but surely, they saw progression to convalescence, and were thankful. Lurlee could not restrain her pious gratitude; and Friday afterFriday, the poor of the town, Hindus as well as Mahomedans, received a munificent dole of food and money, and rejoiced at the widow's profuse charity.
Dear reader, if you have ever recovered from such an illness as befell Tara, you will remember, vividly and gratefully, the pleasant languor, the perfect rest, and the sensation of growing strength of life,—amid its weakness, such as you cannot estimate till you attempt to act for yourself. You long to speak, but your tongue refuses words; you long to rise and help yourself, but your members as yet decline office. If you can turn yourself about as you lie, it is all that is possible. Then, if you are ministered to by loving hands, and you hear sweet familiar voices around you, how often has your heart swelled, and run over at your eyes, silently, and in very weakness, as you have abandoned yourself to their sweet influences! How powerfully the new life which God has given you, grows under their ever-present care! Sometimes you can hardly bear the excess of joy, and tremble lest it should suddenly cease; and again, you find periods of rest possessing you—dreamy unrealities—incomplete perceptions—even vacuity, which is not sleep, nor yet waking—and still with all, a consciousness of increasing strength which will not be denied.
It was so with Tara. No one spoke much to her, she could not bear it, nor could she reply; but if Zyna sat by her, or Lurlee, and held her hand, it was enough for reality; and morning and evening Fazil was admitted to see her, and to satisfy himself that she was gaining ground. The past was never alluded to by any of them. At first she had only a dim and broken remembrance of it, as of some great ill-usage or suffering. As she grew stronger, the detail became more distinct: and they often saw her shudder, and draw the end of her garment or the coverlet over her face, as if to hide it from observation, or to shut out some terrible sight from her view. Yet to herself there was an unreality about the whole, which she could neither comprehend, nor account for. Most of all about her parents: were they indeed alive, or was their sudden appearance on the day of the Sutee, a reality, or a trick of imagination—was all she retained in her mind one of the hideous dreams of her illness rather than a fact? Who was to tell her the truth?
All that Fazil had heard from the hunchback, he had told to Tara as they rested here and there in their escape; but her own mind was then in that state of terror and confusion that she could tell him nothing, nor, indeed, could she find courage to speak to him at all. Long before, when they had been together in camp, she had never dared to answer him. It was enough for her that he spoke, and that she listened. Her mind, as he rode with her that night before him—for he would trust her to no one—was sorely unhinged. That she had escaped death she knew; that she was with him she knew also:that she feared pursuit, and might be taken and burned alive, was an absorbing terror, which shut out the shame of her flight; and it was perhaps a happy circumstance that the fever, which had so long affected her brain, shut out all realities till she was stronger, and calmer to bear them.
Day by day, as strength returned to Tara, remembrance returned also. It might have been with abhorrence of her present position—with dread of her broken vows—with terror of the Mother's vengeance, and with a sense of her own pollution as an escaped Sutee—which would have utterly overwhelmed her with remorse, and forbidden recovery at all; and in such a case, death would have been welcome. We will not say that there was no revulsion of feeling: it would have been unnatural in one with so fine an intellect as Tara possessed, had there been no struggle. Perhaps the new life to which she awakened, after the illness she had undergone, had blunted the perceptions of the old; perhaps, as Zyna and Lurlee told her, that it was her destiny, which she could not resist; and that, if she were to have died, as her creed had determined, could Fazil have prevented it?—would she have been delivered at all? Had she not already undergone the pains of death in preparation for it, and been delivered from them?
Then Lurlee again brought forth her books, and went over all her old calculations, and there were the priest's also with them, all tending to the same point. If her faith had been shaken for a time, in the fact that Afzool Khan had died, when the planets showed that he should be victorious, might there not have been some mistake? Here at least there was none; none in the restoration of her child, as she called Tara, from death to life—none in her having been rescued from the evil idolaters and Kafirs, to be newly born into the true faith, acceptable to Alla and the Prophet. All this was very plain and incontrovertible.
Could Tara deny it? It was not clear that she even attempted to do so: and ever nigh her, were anxious pleaders against any justification of the rites of her own faith, from the most horrible consummation of which, she could not possibly have escaped. "Even your father and mother could not have saved you had they desired it," argued Zyna, "from dying in the fire before them: they would have seen you burned, and shouted 'Jey Kalee!' with the rest, to drown the scream of your dying agony; but they would not have relented." No; Tara's heart told her they would not have relented, and she must have perished, but for Fazil.
And when he pleaded?—It was long before he attempted it; but it was at last irrepressible. More than his sister and Lurlee, he knew what struggle would ensue in Tara's heart if she were called upon too suddenly to renounce her own faith; for he had lived, young as he still was, more in the world. On this point, he had as yet forborne to address her at all. But such love as his for the deserted girl, must be spoken by himself. Lurlee and Zyna had told him all they had said, and it seemed strange to both that he was silent; but he had judged rightly. What the girl could bear from them, could not have been endured from him till her bodily strength assisted her mind to bear it, and he waited his opportunity.
It was the first time she had ever mentioned her own affairs; almost the only time she had spoken freely at all. She had reverted to the past, to the day of the attack on Tooljapoor, and to Fazil's recovery of her mother's ornaments; for the Brahmun women had bathed her that day, and she had performed some simple ceremonies of her faith for purification after her illness, and charitable gifts had been distributed by Fazil and Lurlee on her behalf. So she had suffered Zyna to twist a garland of flowers into her hair as she used to do in camp, and to put on her some of the old ornaments which, while she was yet decked for the Sutee, had been brought away with her: and when Fazil, who had been absent all day in the camp, returned before sunset for the evening prayer, he found her talking earnestly with his sister.
Still pale, but only showing the traces of illness in the purity of her colour, Tara had perhaps never looked more lovely than in the resumption of some of her former richness and elegance of costume; and as Fazil entered the court, for the moment unobserved by her and Zyna, who were seated together, he stopped involuntarily to regard her.
Tara would have fled when they saw him, but Zyna would not have it so.
"Look," she said, "brother, is she not like herself once more? See how I have decked her for her sacrifice of thanks to-day! Surely all that is past is as a dream, and Tara is again what she was the evening she was taken away from us. Is she not, brother? She is not changed?"
"Yes," he said, "changed, I think, in spirit in her new life, as we had hoped—that is all! Tara, sit down: we will all remain together, and you must hear me now, with Zyna as witness.
"There is nothing new to say," he continued, after a pause—"nothing. It is only the old tale, once told before, when you believed it: and it is not changed, only confirmed. Ah! we have both been tried since; and if out of that trial you have come, like me, strengthened, then there is no doubt. Tara! in the deadly struggle by thathideous pile, with the crash of music, and frantic screams of the people in your ears, even then your heart bore witness to me that I was true. Am I false now?"
"O no, no, no!" cried the girl, throwing herself uncontrollably at his feet, after her old Hindu fashion. "Not false, not false! You are my lord and my saviour, and I worship you! I will be your slave, your servant, for my life, and Zyna knows it; but consider——"
"Not thus, beloved," he said, gravely but kindly stooping and raising her up, "will I hear that, but so, face to face. There is no shame in it now—none; for it is our destiny, Tara: let it be as honoured as, methinks, it is loved. Sit there and listen." And Zyna put her arm round her, and they sat down together side by side.
"I have to say hard words, perhaps, Tara," he continued, "but you must hear them. In saving you from death by fire, I have brought you into a living death from your own faith; for you are an outcast now, as you know—you cannot return to it. You could not be received as a Brahmun, nor would any other caste assist you. Shaven, denied shelter, and even water, by the very mother who bore you—if she live—you must herd with the vilest, and enter that condition of abject dishonour and profligacy which Moro Trimmul intended for you, and from which God—your God as well as mine, Tara—has now delivered you. There is nothing else for you that I can see but death, and that is now gone from you, and will not return. Could you escape this, Tara? Is this a life for you?"
He saw the girl shudder violently, and bury her burning face in Zyna's bosom; while Zyna, drawing her to herself more closely, said gently, "Listen, listen; is he speaking the truth? You do not answer, O beloved!"
Tara could not reply, but she clung to Zyna the more closely.
"Or instead," continued Fazil, "there is, what was said once before, in presence of my honoured father—peace be with him!—which I now repeat, and Alla and the Prophet, who sent me to you, and you to me, are witness of its truth,—that all of honour, all of wealth, all of love and respect that I possess, I will share with you as my wife, till I die. You are not of us, nor of our creed: no matter, we can admit you honourably to both. It is no disgrace to quit the blood-stained belief of Hinduism to join the glorious ranks of the true believers; but a blessed gain, for which, out of all these trials, Alla hath preordained you. Enough, O Tara: before Him, your God and mine, and before Zyna, answer to me truly and freely, once and for ever. He is witness that there is no constraint upon you."
Could she resist that earnest manly pleading—she, already won long ago? she who, in all her trial, had carried about in her heart that image of glory and beauty, which she could only compare with the heroes and demigods of her own sacred poems—her higheststandard,—and who, in putting it away, had done so, only to die in that horrible, calm despair, which preceded voluntary immolation? It was impossible!
As she sat there, and as he ceased speaking, there rushed through her mind a sudden flood of old memories which, had the love she bore for him been weak, or less deeply rooted than it was, had swept it away as the torrent sweeps dry straws from its bed, and they are seen no more. Father, mother, Radha, the old pleasant memories of Tooljapoor, and the old people; a happy childhood, a joyous budding into womanhood without care. Next, her service to the goddess, and all that had come of it—terror, desperation, and living death. She could not serve her now, even did she desire it; and she could not see the image as before, nor the weird ruby eyes which used to follow her, and seemed to glint into her very heart. She remembered the fierce Brahmun, her foe—the glittering fly which she had seen in her little garden—and trembling, clung more closely to the breast on which she was lying; and, last of all, the hideous pile of black logs, the crash of gongs and drums, the shouts of the people, the fluttering pennons, the torches blazing around her to light her to death, and the agony of two women as they beheld it all, and of an aged man who had come to her and caused her once more to fear——
It takes long to write this; but all, ay more, rushed through the girl's heart as a strong flood in a moment, tossing and whirling fiercely: yet it shook nothing there. How true was it that, in that long unconsciousness and delirium, the old life had passed away, and the new one came with other obligations to be fulfilled. She was weeping passionately while Fazil was speaking, but when the rush of thought came, it was with awe, which repressed other emotion, and was succeeded by calm, inexpressibly sweet and assuring. Yes, love for him had resisted the fury of passion in its last attempt, and she could not control it now. Zyna felt her arms withdrawn from about her, and Tara, covering her burning face, on which the tears were glistening, with her garment, bent down before him, not in prostration, as before, but kneeling and bowing her head reverently, as she joined her hands in an attitude of supplication.
"Do with me as thou wilt, my lord," she said gently; "my life is thine, and I am thine henceforth till I die. I am helpless now—do not forsake me; and God and Zyna are witness that I pledge my troth to thee, freely and humbly. I have no fear—none! it is past now!"
"Shabash! Shabash! Tara," cried Zyna exultingly, clapping her hands; "now thou art ours indeed. See, mother," she continued, turning round and looking up, as Lurlee entered, "he asked her, and she has agreed; and you are witness of it as well as I."
"I am witness," said the lady; "I have heard all, and I amcontent. Alla and the Prophet have answered my prayers. Ah! I shall have a precious child to give to thee, Fazil, ere long."
"Put her hands into mine, mother," he replied. "It will feel real, that she is to belong to me hereafter: it will be an earnest of the end."
"It is not one of the orthodox customs, Fazil," said the lady, gravely and hesitatingly: "and I never saw it done at any betrothment; nevertheless, wait an instant—I will return directly."
She did so, while they sat as before, bearing a silver salver—on which there were some pieces of sugar-candy, and seated herself by them.
"Thou art still a Brahmun," she said to Tara, "but thou wilt take one of these from thy mother? There," she continued, as she put a piece into each of their mouths, repeating the blessing, "Bismilla! It is done; ye cannot go back. There should be rejoicing, and music, and feasting; but,—Bismilla! it is done, and ye cannot retract. O children! O children!" she cried, bursting into a flood of tears, "I am a widow, and have suffered sore bereavement; but ye are the light of my eyes and the only joy of my heart now! Here are her hands, Fazil," and she took up Tara's, and put them into his—"thine, boy, till the end!"
Fazil stooped his head, and put his forehead upon them; they were not withdrawn, and he fancied that the slender fingers closed on his confidently;—was it fancy?
"They should know of it, if they live," said Tara hesitatingly, and with a gasp in her throat; "methinks they do live, mother, and that I saw them—there—at Wye—my father and mother; but it is all confused now, and it may have been a dream during my illness."
"O no!" cried the lady, "let them not come between us now, if they live; but they are not alive, Tara."
"Perhaps not," she said, with a sigh; "nevertheless, if my lord would send some one and ask. They would be found in Vishnu Pundit's house at Wye; and if they are dead——"
"Surely," said Fazil, interrupting her, "I will send Lukshmun even now. If they are there, they should come on at once; there is no fear. Could you not send a letter, or a token, Tara?"
"I will write," she replied; "and here is a ring of my mother's that she loved dearly; it would have been burned with me! Let them take it; and if my lord would write, too, to say—to say—I am alive, it would be enough."
"It shall be done at once," he said, rising; "O mother, surely thy science told thee this would be a happy day!"
"See!" exclaimed the lady triumphantly, taking her tablets from her bodice, "you mock the planets sometimes, son, but see; while you were speaking I looked. Is not this Wednesday? and, see, here isVenus ruling the hour as you sat and plighted your faith! O children, this cannot be wrong, for the sun is just setting, and the work is finished."
As she spoke, the last gleam of its rays, as it sank in a glory of gold and crimson, flashed into the apartment, lighting up the girls' radiant faces, and sparkling upon their rich dresses and golden ornaments.
"Beautiful as thou art, Tara," continued Lurlee, "thou wilt be lovelier still when we deck thee as his bride; and so may the blessing of thy new mother rest upon thee, and the evil I take from thee now,"—and she passed her hands over the girl from head to foot,—"depart to thine enemies!"
"Ameen! Ameen!" cried Zyna, as Tara, falling upon her neck, again wept silently those tears of joy which she had with difficulty repressed.
"Well sung!" cried the young Khan cheerfully, and joining in the general applause which followed a pretty Mahratta ballad which the hunchback and Ashruf had just sung, to the accompaniment of a lute played by the former and a small tenor drum by the latter—"well sung! Where did ye learn that?" he continued, advancing from the entrance to the court where he had paused as he came out. "It is something new."
The men, who were seated or lounging about the entrance hall to the house, rose and saluted Fazil. It was evident at a glance to Bulwunt Rao that something had occurred to remove the sad expression which his lord's face had worn so long; for it had given place to one radiant with joy, and he exclaimed cheerily,—
"Thanks be to the gods! it is gone at last, Meah! Never, since we rode together to Pertâbgurh, have any of us seen a smile on your face that was worth looking at, or one which was not followed by a sigh, as much as to regret it had ever been there; so I cry, with thanks to the gods, the grief is gone at last. What say you, brothers? look at him; did I speak truly?"
Amidst the hearty responses to this congratulation by his retainers, Fazil Khan sat down among them, and the hunchback and Ashruf, stepping forward, assumed the positions of professional ballad-singers, and saluted him.
"Shall we sing it again, Meah?" asked Lukshmun; "you did not hear it all. 'Tis a fancy of my own, about a damsel waiting for her lover, who passes her by with another, and so she goes and weeps."
"And we have all been crying over it, Meah," added Bulwunt Rao; "'tis so sad a tune too—so plaintive."
"But as I am not in a crying mood, friend," returned Fazil, laughing, "it would hardly suit me now, so another time—meanwhile there is something to be done which is urgent."
"Are we to meet a new army, and take our revenge, Meah?" cried several of the men. "Ah, we know the country now, and should not fall into another trap like the first."
"No, no, friends," said the young man sadly, "there is no such good news as that; 'tis but a private matter of my own, which our ballad-singers may help, perhaps."
"We, Meah?" exclaimed the hunchback; "thou well knowest, that if we were bidden to leap into the flames for thee, we would not hesitate. Speak, that we may hear and do."
"It is somewhat private, friends," said the young man, looking around. "If I might be alone with these and our old friend for a little, no one may take offence; you will know all by-and-by."
"Surely not," cried several, rising and going out, followed by the rest.
"Stay, Bulwunt Rao," said Fazil, putting his hand on his arm, "your counsel may be of use;" and when they were alone, he continued, "She will not be content unless she sees her father and mother; and she declares they are at Wye, and came to her the day she was to be burned."
"Impossible!" cried Lukshmun; "they are dead, and this must be some device of the Evil One—of that old Mother on the hill there, who wants to get her back; and she has sent spirits in their guise to mock her. She does such things very often, Meah Sahib, and I don't like to hear of this."
"Well, they must be substantial spirits," returned Fazil, laughing, "for she told us that she had heard them speak, and that she thought her father had lifted her up once. They must be alive."
Lukshmun shook his head. "I did not see him, or hear of him, at Wye," he said; "and as I know them well, I should have recognized him and his wife anywhere. And, about the witches—if I were to tell you what I know about the Mother's devices," he continued solemnly, wagging his head, "I should not be believed. Nevertheless——"
"Nevertheless," said Fazil, interrupting him, "thou art to go and see—thou and Ashruf. Wilt thou go, lad, if he is afraid of the witches?"
"To the death," cried the boy cheerfully; while Lukshmun, leaping up into the air, turned a somersault, and came down where he stood. "Go!" he said; "yes, Meah. I have a spell against the Mother and all sorcery, and his majesty the devil to boot, whichPahar Singh taught me. Where are we to go, Meah, and when?"
"Now," replied Fazil; "take two of the ponies and ride straight to Wye. Her parents will be found in the house of Vishnu Pundit, or he will direct you to them. If they are gone home, or to Poona, or anywhere else, they must be followed up and brought back; and they will come when that ring is given to her mother—so she says."
"They may need money," said the man, musing. "Brahmuns never move without coin. Something for expenses, is the first thing they ask of one. Is it not true? Nevertheless, Vyas Shastree is rich enough. O yes, he knows me, and I can get into Vishnu Pundit's house, too. Come, lad, we must put on the Byragee's dresses."
Ashruf followed him. While they were absent, Fazil wrote the letter they were to take, which ran as follows:—
"To the respectable and learned in the Véds and Shastras, Vyas Shastree, of Tooljapoor, who is kind to his friends;"From Fazil, son of Afzool Khan, with greetings, and the peace and salutation of God; and after wishing you health and prosperity—"You are to know that your daughter Tara is here, with my mother and sister, in honour and health; but she hath been ill unto death, and being, by God's favour, restored to life, wishes to see you and her mother urgently, and sends a token, by which you may be assured she is here."You will learn more from the bearer, my servant, who is to be trusted; and I pray you to lose no time in setting out, for we await your coming. I have sent money for your expenses by him, which you are to be pleased to use freely."
"To the respectable and learned in the Véds and Shastras, Vyas Shastree, of Tooljapoor, who is kind to his friends;
"From Fazil, son of Afzool Khan, with greetings, and the peace and salutation of God; and after wishing you health and prosperity—
"You are to know that your daughter Tara is here, with my mother and sister, in honour and health; but she hath been ill unto death, and being, by God's favour, restored to life, wishes to see you and her mother urgently, and sends a token, by which you may be assured she is here.
"You will learn more from the bearer, my servant, who is to be trusted; and I pray you to lose no time in setting out, for we await your coming. I have sent money for your expenses by him, which you are to be pleased to use freely."
The hunchback and Ashruf reappeared after a while in their new costume, which was that of Jogies, or religious mendicants of that part of the country. Orange-coloured turbans and garments, purposely torn and ragged, yet withal scrupulously clean; large strings of wooden beads about their necks, wrists, and ankles; black blankets, to keep out cold or heat, thrown over their shoulders after a graceful and picturesque fashion; and the lute and small drum they had used before. The faces of both were smeared with whiting, and the broad trident of Vishnu was drawn in red and white paint upon their foreheads. The hunchback would perhaps have been known by his figure; but Ashruf, from the smart Mussulman boy, gaily dressed as became his master's favourite attendant, was utterly transformed, and could not possibly have been recognized.
"Shabash!" cried Bulwunt Rao and Fazil involuntarily; "it is complete—no one could know you."
"Except by this hunched back of mine," said Lukshmun, "I wouldwager that I went anywhere as anybody you please, Meah,—from the holiest Syud down to the lowest Kullunder—from the Secretary of Ramdas Swâmi himself, to what I am now,—and was not discovered. Hindu or Mussulman, 'tis all the same—only I must have a religious garb on, Meah Sahib: for my mind, you see, having that turn naturally, I am most at home in one. Did any one suspect us when we sang ballads in the ambush at Jowly, and found out what Moro Trimmul wanted to do? or in Wye, when we saw Tara? O Meah! this is a joyful errand, for I shall pay a rupee to a Brahmun, and get bathed in the river—just where they were going to burn Tara Bye—to wash away my sins, and be absolved from shedding a Brahmun's blood. The gods forgive me if I killed him!"
"I hope you did," returned Fazil, laughing: "and now, here is a purse of gold, tie it round you, and use what is needed; and here are the letters which are to be put into Vyas Shastree's own hand. If he cannot get mine read, this ring and her letter will be enough. If they are gone to Poona, or back to Tooljapoor, send Ashruf back to me, and go on thyself."
"To the top of Mount Méru, or the lowest deep of Nurruk," cried Lukshmun, snapping his fingers. "Fear not; we will bring them, lad—won't we? and, master, if I have to go on, and can send thee a letter by a sure hand, may I take on my son here? I cannot sing ballads without him."
"Ah yes, my lord!" pleaded the lad, joining his hands, "to bring them to her."
"Good," said Fazil; "I trust you both. Go, and be discreet, and God's blessing and mine be with you."
"And now, my lord," said the hunchback, "let us sing one ballad before we depart—one that she must know well: it will give her hope. Go and tell her that some singers are here who know the ballads of the Bâlâ Ghaut, and will sing her one. She will recognize the tune, for I have heard her father sing it, and they say he wrote it for her, for her name is in it. We shall sing it before Vishnu Pundit's door at Wye."
"As thou wilt," replied Fazil; "I will tell her;" and he arose and went to the inner court door. "Do not follow me," he said to them—"she can hear from hence, and there are women within—it is private."
Fazil had watched Tara as the prelude began, and he beckoned her to the door. "Come and listen," he said; "they are singers of your own country, and I have brought them to sing a ballad to you." She arose, and Zyna followed her.
The hunchback and Ashruf stood at the doorway without, and, after a short prelude, sang, as nearly as we can translate it, as follows:—