A NEW AND AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
Siddha reached the Mosque at the appointed time, and had not waited
long before he saw the servant approach and sign to him to follow
her. She led him through different side-paths until they reached a
high garden wall, in which there was a small door. She opened this,
and carefully shut it again, after they had entered. A path thickly
bordered with cactuses and other plants led him to a kind of terrace
with orange-trees and fountains, on which the back part of a small
but tasteful house opened; the rest of it being hidden by thickly
growing trees. Siddha's guide led him up a flight of marble steps
and through a gallery to an apartment open to the fresh air, and
having left him she disappeared behind the hangings. On a divan
was carelessly stretched a young woman richly clad in the Persian
style. No sooner did she become aware of her visitor's presence than
she arose and came forward to meet and welcome him. At the first moment
Siddha could hardly have told whether she was beautiful or not. Her
features were not regular; but her soft blue eyes, overshadowed with
silken lashes, had an indescribably sweet and friendly expression;
and though she was not tall, her figure, which her closely-fitting
robe showed to perfection, was most perfectly proportioned. But what
particularly struck Siddha was the whiteness of her neck and bosom,
round which a pearl necklace hung; and the rosy tint of her cheeks,
which he had never seen in other women.
"Noble lord," she said,--and if the impression she had already made
on Siddha had been unfavourable, the sweetness of her voice would at
once have won him to her,--"I thank you for so speedily fulfilling
my request. Perhaps it seems a little indiscreet; but when you hear
the reasons, I trust you will not think harshly of me."
"To refuse such an invitation," answered Siddha, "would indeed have
been uncourteous; though I confess I did not await the time with
the impatience I should have done, noble lady, had I known whom I
should meet."
Acknowledging this compliment with a slight inclination of her head,
she continued,--"My excuse is, that no personal reason made me take
this step, but the affairs of another, of a friend of mine, whom I
love with all my heart. Some time ago she was forced to fly from Agra
to escape the snares laid for her by powerful persons here, and sought
a refuge in your country, in Kashmir. Now I have a communication to
make to her which may be of great importance; but until now I could
think of no means of sending safely to her, as I do not trust any of
the messengers at my disposal. Then I heard accidentally, it does not
signify how, that you with your former tutor had arrived in Agra,
and that the guru would shortly return. I at once saw that I could
not do better than trust in the honour of a nobleman whose name was
well known to me, and so determined on begging you to ask your friend
to undertake the delivery of my letter, in which I inform my friend
of many things that are only of importance to her; and I trust my
request will not inconvenience you or the worthy Kulluka."
At these words, Siddha's first feeling was one of relief. So, then,
the whole affair merely consisted in taking charge of an apparently
innocent letter, and which, at any rate, did not concern him. But with
his satisfaction was mingled a certain degree of disappointment, and
that there should be no shadow of an adventure in this affair was not
flattering to his vanity. He hastened to assure her he would gladly
charge his tutor with the letter, who would willingly undertake to
convey it.
At a sign from the lady the servant appeared, bringing her a paper
folded in the form of a letter, and fastened with a silken cord,
bearing a seal. "The direction, as you see," she said, as the servant
left the room, "is not to my friend, but to some one whom perhaps
you know."
"Certainly," answered Siddha, "we have often hunted together."
"He will deliver the letter, and so your friend Kulluka will not
know who the real recipient is; for I think it is better that as
few as possible should share the secret. I hope," she continued,
after a moment's silence, "that my friend will profit by what I tell
her. Indeed I pity her greatly in her banishment, though at times I
almost envy her the opportunity she enjoys of visiting your beautiful
country, of which I have read such glowing descriptions. But tell me
frankly, are not these descriptions a little exaggerated--at least,
they are rather poetical?"
"Indeed," answered Siddha, "though my tutor has always warned
me against exaggeration as outstepping the bounds of reality and
good taste, still I must say the descriptions you mention fall far
beneath the truth. Here nature has her beauties. Charming are the
borders of your Jamuna, and with the magnificence and luxury of your
palaces there is nothing in our northern land that can be compared;
but the beauty of our mountains, woods, and valleys, can hardly be
imagined by you, accustomed to less-favoured lands." And led away
by recollections of his native land, and by the interest shown by
his new and really beautiful listener, our Siddha lost himself in
descriptions of Hindustan's world-famed paradise. His eloquence,
as well as his good looks, increased the admiration with which his
hearer regarded the handsome and powerful youth.
"But I detain you too long," she said, at last rising, "and am taking
advantage of your kindness. Still, one more request: let our interview,
for the sake of my friend, remain a secret between you and me. This
short meeting can be of no importance."
"For you, certainly not," said Siddha; "but for me more than you seem
to think."
"I see," she replied, laughing, "that you Hindus are as well versed
as our people in the art of paying compliments. But let us leave
that. There still remains something that I should say. I should show
myself indeed unworthy of your confidence, if, knowing who you are,
I should myself remain unknown; and, under the promise of secrecy,
I see no reason for withholding my name and rank, lowly as it is. My
name is Rezia; my father, an Armenian, came here for commerce, and
early married me to a merchant of this town, who was already far
advanced in years. Some time ago he went to Persia on his affairs,
and perhaps further; but it is long since I have heard anything of
him. In the meantime I live here, as you see, solitary and quiet,
enjoying the pleasure of a peaceful life. So now you know who you
have had the trouble of visiting, although we may never meet again."
"And why, noble Rezia, should that not be?" asked Siddha. "I see no
reason against it, and possibly I may have things to tell you of the
country where your friend now is, that might interest you."
"Well," answered Rezia, "I will not refuse your friendship; and if
some evening you should have an idle hour, I would gladly hear tidings
of my letter, and that its charge occasioned no trouble. At any rate,
I am sure it has a good chance. No doubt you will meet my servant, and
have only to tell her when you will visit me in my solitary dwelling."
"For the opportunity of seeing you again, I shall indeed be grateful,"
said Siddha, as he carefully placed the letter entrusted to him in
his girdle, and prepared for the moment to say farewell.
When he reached his home he stood for some time in the verandah, busied
with thought, gazing on the river that flowed softly below him. Those
were the same waters that would bathe the walls of Allahabad fortress,
and reflect back the lovely features of Iravati; true, might it not
be that the waves would take a greeting to his loving betrothed, and
whisper words of love and faith? And he snatched Iravati's portrait
from the wall, and pressing his lips to her image, he seated himself
in the gallery; and as he gazed on her, lovelier than ever seemed
the features of the noble and beautiful Hindu girl. But as his eyes
wandered over the palace and gardens bordering the river, another's
figure appeared before him--the graceful form, the blue eyes, and sweet
voice of Rezia the Armenian. What was she to him? Nothing, certainly;
but what harm was there even if he found her charming? He had never
promised Iravati that for her sake every other woman should appear
to him both ugly and unpleasing.
"Hallo!" was heard next morning in the courtyard of Siddha's
dwelling. "Is your master awake? Go and see if a visit from me will
disturb him."
Before Vatsa could obey the command, Siddha, who was preparing to go
out, recognised the cheerful voice of Parviz, Abú-l Fazl's nephew;
and hastened to meet and beg him to come in.
"Are you on service now?" he asked.
"Not for a couple of days."
"That is well. Then perhaps you will come with me for an expedition?"
"Very willingly. Where shall we go?"
"To Fathpúr Sikri, [70] the country residence of the Emperor, the
place everyone visits when they first make an expedition in the
neighbourhood."
"I submit myself entirely to your friendly guidance," answered Siddha;
"but excuse me if I leave you for a few moments to say farewell to
Kulluka, who is on the point of starting."
He found his tutor in all the hurry of departure, and, as he said
farewell, entrusted him with the letter, which Kulluka took without
any questions. And before long Siddha and Parviz were mounted and,
followed by their servants, on their way out of the town. Their
journey was nothing but a pleasant ride, their road lying as it did
through an avenue overshadowed with fine trees, with beautiful views
on each side, over fields and shady groves.
"See," said Parviz, after they had ridden for some time; "such avenues
the Emperor has had planted almost everywhere; and in places where
formerly no green leaf was to be seen, and men died of heat, now
these shady roads are to be found. Is not this a great and useful
work? Certainly every traveller has good cause of gratitude to Akbar."
"Yes, indeed, the Emperor does great things," answered Siddha--and
his thoughts turned to the extraordinary man with whom, yesterday, he
had talked of Akbar. And he described to Parviz his strange meeting,
and asked if he knew who the person he described could be?
"No, I know him not," said Parviz, with difficulty suppressing a smile;
"but perhaps you will meet him again."
"Very likely," answered Siddha, "But, tell me, how is it that here
there are so many people without beards? I always supposed that your
Muhammadans thought a great deal of their beards."
"So they do; but Akbar thinks quite differently. A little moustache,
like yours and mine, he can put up with, but would rather see nothing
at all on one's face. The wisest men have their whims, and this may be
one. Or he may do it with intention to vex the faithful, and to show
them how little he thinks of their opinions and customs. But, whatever
the reason, so it is; and, unimportant and childish as it seems, this
has given rise to much talk and much that is disagreeable. Now we are
approaching the dwelling of one of the chiefs of the village of this
district, who I know very well, through my uncle the Minister. Shall
we rest with him for a few moments while our horses are watered? My
bay is much in want of it, for he was waiting saddled long before I
was ready."
Agreeing to this proposal they dismounted in the inner court of
a farmhouse built of stone and wood, and surrounded by tamarinds
and acacias. The proprietor himself soon appeared--a middle-aged,
respectable-looking Hindu, with a magisterial air. After the usual
greetings, and while fresh fruit and ice-cold water was brought for
their refreshment, the conversation naturally turned to agriculture
and the great prosperity of the district, although but lately brought
under cultivation.
"Partly, of course," said the chief of the village, "we owe the
fortunate condition in which we find ourselves to our own labour
and exertion; but we owe great thanks to the Emperor, whose wise and
beneficent system of ruling first gave us the opportunity of using
our own strength."
"I have heard of his system," remarked Siddha; "still, to tell you
the truth, I am scarcely master of it."
"Yet it is very simple," replied the Hindu, "and, to one like you, very
easy to comprehend. The system rests principally on a wise division of
the land, and a just settlement of the taxes on land, and, above all,
on the certainty of law and justice, possessed equally by proprietor
and tenant. Everything used to depend on arbitrary decisions, and no
one knew what he might keep or what he would be obliged to pay; and we
chiefs of the villages had to decide what the yearly taxation of the
fields should be. Now that is all changed: the fields are correctly
measured, their boundaries fixed, and the taxation regulated with
reference to their productiveness, according to which they are placed
in classes, and rented for a certain number of years. [71] And what,
perhaps, is the most important of all, the taxes are payable either
in money or in kind; and no Government officer can decide as he will,
when disputes arise, but by the law alone. The consequence of all this
is, that the cultivator, proprietor, or farmer can tell beforehand
what land will cost, what he will have to pay, and what will remain
his own property. Is it any wonder, then, that he now, understanding
his affairs, applies all his energies to them, and becomes prosperous,
whereas before he was content if he could but earn his daily rice. You
see the fruits of the system around you, and can form your own opinion;
but you could do so far better if you had known the former condition
of the country as I do."
"The same system in any country would lead to the same results,"
answered Siddha. "What a blessing for a state to possess a prince
like Akbar!"
"We must also be grateful to his councillors," said the magistrate,
"particularly to Todar Mal, [72] the treasurer, who worked out the
system; and to Abú-l Fazl, the great Wazir, who put the last touch to
the work, and repressed with severity the extortions of the Government
officers. If in the beginning these measures appeared to diminish the
revenues of the state, in the long run it has been quite the contrary;
but had the revenues been lessened, still they would have been far
more productive, because the payments are certain and punctual."
"But, worthy sir," asked Siddha, "is there not danger of these
excellent regulations falling to the ground if a less wise prince
should ascend the throne?"
"I do not believe it," was the reply. "No despot could easily take
from our community such rights when it had once obtained them. You
know that our people almost entirely govern themselves by their
magistrates, and are thus, to a certain extent, independent of the
sovereign. If he attempted to deprive them of their rights he would
find that he must wage war against a dozen small states, and would not
find soldiers enough to reduce them all to obedience. Even should he
succeed in doing so, the villages would be almost entirely deserted,
and the population would seek refuge in impenetrable jungles and
wildernesses. On the other hand, our villagers leave the prince free
to act as he will. He can carry on war against other kingdoms as
much as he pleases, and as long as the state of his treasury admits;
and they never concern themselves with court intrigues and disputes."
"What a happy condition of things," said Siddha, "for both parties."
"But the union of state and people is not much advanced by it,"
remarked Parviz, joining in the conversation.
"No, that is true," answered the magistrate. "But do you believe it
possible that there can be real unity in a State such as our present
Hindustan, where so many and such different races and people are
brought together under one rule?"
"I acknowledge that it may be difficult; still, it is worth trying
for."
The conversation, which was very interesting to Siddha, continued
for some time, and then the two friends, taking leave, mounted their
horses and continued their journey. A brisk but rather long ride,
which obliged them more than once to halt and rest, brought them in
sight of the heights on which the palace of Fathpúr was built. However
striking had been the first view of the palaces of Agra, this was
not less so. The buildings rising one above another, as though built
on terraces, stood out proud and stately against the sky, with their
tall towers, and sharply cut battlements. Broad marble steps glittered
in the sunshine, here and there overshadowed by the thick green of
tamarinds and other trees.
As Siddha and his companion, leaving their horses to the charge
of their servants, entered the precincts of the palace itself,
the former, though less astonished, was far more delighted than he
had been with his first view of Agra. The gardens pleased him more,
and were more satisfying to the eye, for here no wrong was done to
nature; the paths, instead of being laid out with uniform regularity,
followed the unevenness of the ground, and were thickly overshadowed
by luxuriant vegetation. And what a magnificent and refreshing view
over the neighbouring hills and fields, rich and golden with corn, and
over the silver shining river! For some time the two wandered about,
sometimes through solitary groves, and then through galleries filled
with guards and servants. At last Parviz proposed they should go to the
lower town to seek their lodgings, and to obtain better refreshment
than had been possible on the road. This proposal was willingly
agreed to; and after the two friends had enjoyed the needful repose,
they again sallied out to visit what was to be seen in the town.
"Excuse me," said Parviz, "if I leave you for a few minutes. I have
to give some papers from my uncle to one of his officers here, and
to speak to him about some affairs which will not interest you. He
lives close by, and I shall be back immediately. In the meantime
you can visit that old temple yonder, surrounded with acacias; or,
if you like it better, pay your devotions there."
"Very much obliged," he answered, laughing; "I scarcely care to
do that, but I will willingly visit the temple, and will await you
close by."
Siddha had hardly entered the vaulted, dimly-lit building before he
recognised it as a temple of Siva by the numerous emblematic ornaments
on the pillars, and, advancing a few steps, he saw at the furthest
end a kind of hall lighted from above, where was placed a colossal
image of the god, seated cross-legged on a lotus, his arms and ancles
ornamented with numberless rings, the symbol of the trinity on his
forehead, and a necklace of skulls around his neck. Siva was the
immortal ruler of the world, creating to destroy, and destroying to
create afresh, endless in his manifestation and transformation of
being, from whence all takes origin, and to which everything must
return. Well as our young Indian understood the idea represented by
these images and their symbols, the mis-shapen, monstrous figures
struck him with the same feeling of repulsion as they had done when
he first beheld them. The temple itself was not wanting in beauty,
though disfigured by the grotesque representations on the walls.
He had not been long alone before he heard a voice behind him,
although the silence was unbroken by any sound of footsteps.
"Om," sounded through the stillness; "Om, the unworthy servant of
Siva's holy consort greets thee, O Moral Force."
Turning to the spot from whence came the voice, Siddha recognised
the Durga priest Gorakh, whom he had seen in company with his uncle
at Allahabad. "I greet you, holy man," he said, and awaited what the
other should say.
"So, then, we have not forgotten each other since our last meeting,"
replied the priest. "In truth I have not lost sight of you since I
saw you in the neighbourhood of Badrinath."
"Let that be as it will," answered Siddha, half impatiently; "but I
scarcely comprehend, honoured lord, why you should concern yourself
about me."
"Should not," asked the other, "the nephew of my old friend and pupil
have claim to the interest I feel in him? and for that reason I feel
obliged to give you a warning, if you will take it from me. You know
who Gurupada the hermit is, do you not?"
"Gurupada?" asked Siddha. "Certainly; he is a hermit living in the
mountains."
"Yes; but I mean who he was before he assumed his present name."
"Of that I know nothing--he never alluded to it."
"But your guru, Kulluka, must have told you."
"I never asked him; it was nothing to me."
Gorakh turned a penetrating look towards the speaker; but he would
have been no true Indian had his countenance displayed ought but utter
indifference. However, irritated by the persistence of his questioner,
he proceeded, with less caution, to say, "Even if I knew who and what
Gurupada had been, can you not understand that I would not tell you?"
"Ha!" cried the Yogi, "you mean you do not trust me. You mean to defy
me. Do you remember that I am a friend of the Governor of Allahabad?"
"Yes, I know that," said Siddha, expressing vexation.
"What do you know?"
"I know what I know, and that is enough."
The priest regarded Siddha with anger, not unmingled with
disquietude. What was the meaning of this tone, and what could he
really know? Still for the moment the wisest course seemed to be to
break off the conversation.
"Enough, then," said Gorakh, "both for you and for me; but bethink
yourself, my young friend--though you are so little desirous of my
friendship, and I will not force it on you,--think that the mighty
goddess, to whose service all my feeble strength is devoted, not
only protects but destroys also, and that there is no hope of mercy
or chance of salvation for him whom, through her priests, she has
chosen out for her service and who has turned from it." So saying,
he disappeared down a side aisle, without waiting for any answer to
his mysterious menace. Siddha looked after him with an involuntary
feeling of anxiety; and though in reality the Durga priest was alone,
yet he almost fancied he could see him followed by a long train
of naked bronze figures, with white cords round their necks, just
as he had seen him in the dimness of night passing along the wall
of Allahabad fortress and vanishing in the jungle. And that night,
as he went to rest, he thought it would be as well to question his
faithful servant who awaited his orders.
"Vatsa," he said, "at Allahabad you assured me that neither you nor
Kulluka's servant had spoken to any priest or penitent; but can you
not remember some other unknown person to whom you might have talked
of our journey through the mountains, and recounted to him some of
its incidents?"
"I should never have thought of it again, Sir, if you had not brought
it to my mind," replied Vatsa; "but now I remember that near the stable
a half-naked, bronze-coloured man once talked with us, and told us
much about the town and fortress, and then asked us about our journey."
"And you told him of my adventure with Gurupada's tiger?"
"I believe we did."
"And did you say anything of the hermit and his appearance?"
"Certainly," answered Vatsa. "His venerable and princely bearing had
so struck us that we were full of it, and not thinking there was any
harm in speaking of it we made no secret of our meeting with him to
the stranger."
"Did you describe Gurupada's appearance exactly?"
"I cannot distinctly remember all we said; but I believe we did speak
of it."
"There is danger," murmured Siddha to himself, "and more than
danger. The priest naturally learnt enough from his spy about our
journey to put me out of countenance. His suspicions seem to be aroused
as regards Gurupada; and it is clear he tried to find out more from
me. But what can he have to do with Gurupada or Nandigupta? And my
uncle Salhana--is he also mixed up in this?"
"I hope we have done no harm by our talk with the stranger," said
Vatsa, disquieted by seeing his young master sunk in thought.
"No, no," he replied; "and even had you done so, it was done
unintentionally, and you are not to blame. We ought to have been more
cautious, and to have warned you beforehand. But in future, Vatsa, do
not speak to any one of the hermit, whoever it may be that asks you;
do you understand?"
"Perfectly, my lord," was the answer; "and in future I have never seen
the hermit, or even if I have done so, I have entirely forgotten what
he was like."
"Nevertheless," thought Siddha, "it might be as well to warn Kulluka,
and even Nandigupta himself. I will try and find a safe opportunity,
whether Salhana has anything to do with it, or not."